Liliacea
by The Divine Comedian
Summary: Lily and the others are searching for mind expansion, a certain founder isn't as dead as she ought to be, and just about everyone has to suffer at some point... R for violence, suicide, self abuse. Contains femslash.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Liliacea  
**Author name:** The Divine Comedian  
**Rating:** R, for explicit violence  
**Summary:** If there was one thing on which the founders agreed, it was the fact that Salazar had started it in the first place. Salazar was decidedly evil, so he had to be killed. How were they to know his death would have unexpected side effects?  
One thousand years later, the marauders start their seventh year at Hogwarts. But the world isn't exactly Woodstock, though they try to pretend: Voldemort is on the rise, people get killed, and a certain undead founder begins to mess with their lives. Suddenly, they are given the chance to defeat their worst enemy - but can they really cope with such a responsibility?  
Simple answer: they can't.  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author's note:**  
I suppose I have to warn you: this story contains explicit violence (hence the rating), self-abuse, drug-abuse... you get the idea (though it has its happy moments... somewhere...). There is also f/f slash in very small amounts - nothing disturbing, really.  
Edit May 2005: I'm taking out the song lyrics. Also note that this story has been written pre-OotP.  
Beta-read by Juliette.

_Prologue_

July 23rd, 981 

It has been eleven years now. Eleven years of terror and war. Most of the wizard settlements have been destroyed. So have a few muggle towns.

It has been eleven years since I last met you. Eleven years that I hoped you would come back. Do you know how much I have been longing for you?

You did come back. And everything threatens to become worse than it has ever been. The war is over - for the moment. The dark wizards have vanished somewhere, as have the horrible demons called dementors.

You told me you were back for good. You even agreed to accept muggle-born students at Hogwarts. You told me you were on the good side. How much I wish I could believe you.

You never told us you were the leader of the dark army. But we all knew.

I have hardly seen you the past few months since you returned. You have spent them locked up in your room, studying . You have grown paler, and there is an aura around you that I can not fully identify. It is evil, but not entirely. There is also some kind of guilt, the few times you looked at me. And something more.

You told us you had spent the years down in Persia, but neither of us believed you.

And now I am here to kill you before you can restart the war. For I know you would.

I knock on the heavy, wooden door. The room remains silent for several minutes. Then I hear footsteps, the door being unlocked, and I finally see you.

"Rowena," you whisper. You drag me inside and close the door. That snake of yours is lazily rolled up in front of the cold fireplace. The room is very dark, there is only one torch lit just above the table, sending its fidgety shadows into the chamber and on your face. I suddenly realize that we are standing very near to each other. I look down. I cannot bear the look of your eyes, remembering me that I once loved you. Stop. I love you even now. I just do not want to think of it. It is already hard enough for me.

Oh, why do I only have to do that? Why do I have to be the only founder who is muggle-born?

Finally, I search your eyes. They seem to glow, not their usual black, but they appear to be almost red. And it is that stare that convinces me to not kill you. Not now. I know I make a pact with the devil. But the decision is done.

You kiss me. As I feel your lips on mine, I notice their dryness, and I feel kind of relieved that there is at least one thing that has not changed. I see amusement sparkling in your eyes. Do you know what you are doing to me? My body burns where you touch it, but I still want to hold you tighter. You know perfectly well that I came here to kill you. And yet you kiss your personal devil.

I feel your hands behind my back, opening my dress. My clothes fall down to the floor, joined by yours, a second later. I shiver a little, due to the cold in your room. But this feeling does not last long.

Yes. Perhaps it just goes that way. Maybe we are two devils.

Maybe we are only two insane lovers. For I love you, Salazar.

_(Told by Rowena Ravenclaw)_

She is lying here next to me. I believe she is asleep, but I can error. I watch her. Eleven years have not done anything to her beauty. Her hair is longer than it has ever been, from a dark reddish-brown and as straight as hair can be. Her eyes, closed now, are grey-green. The colour of the sea. Her perfect skin is darker than mine, though this is not really saying much.

It hurts to look at her, but yet I am not able to look anywhere else. We have been lovers since she was fifteen and I nineteen, but we are not married. If we were muggles, they probably would have already imprisoned us or worse.

Stupid muggles. Rowena was born by them. However, they died when she was twelve, and she was brought up by my aunt and uncle.

It was me who killed her parents. Another thing I never told her. They lived next to our mansion and I just could not stand to see how they were treating her. I discovered that she was magical, and also unusually intelligent. I mean, how many children can speak English, German, Ancient Greek and Latin (the last two I taught her) at the age of seven? Three years later she knew as many spells as every Hogwarts absolvent does now. Her parents noticed that and, instead of feeling honoured of having a magical child, they threatened to put her into a convent. So I killed them and convinced my relatives, with whom I was myself living, to take her.

It is right, Rowena. It was me who lead that army, and I seriously plan to go back and continue the war. Power is a wonderful thing to have, Rowena. Pity you never experienced it.

Did you ever ask yourself why I came back in the first place? Not only to study, even if Hogwarts has got the best library on the dark arts in Europe.

You were the main reason.

I know you are here to kill me. I noticed it when you kissed me, there was a dagger hidden in your robes. Be more careful next time. Stop. There will not be a next time.

I do not want to get killed, not even by you.

Silently, I get up and dress.

_(Told by Salazar Slytherin)_

Why do you only have to be that evil?

And why do I have to be muggle-born?

I dress in your bedroom. Don´t know where you are, you had already been gone when I woke up.It must be some time past midnight, judging after the moon that is shining through the tiny window. I am fully dressed now. As I comb my hair, my eyes are searching the room, looking for my wand. It is not there. Just great. The dagger is gone, too.

Well, I expected that.

Suddenly, I feel your hand over my mouth and the silver digger pressed against my neck.

I am not scared.

_(Told by Rowena Rawenclaw)_

"You know, Rowena, I truly love you," Salazar said. His firm grip did not vanish at any moment.

"I know you are here to kill me and I know who sent you." His voice seemed to tremble a little, or was it just her imagination?

"I hate what I am going to do now." At this words, he trow her to the ground. His wand was pointed at her.

_"Crucio," _he whispered. A sharp pain burst through her body, as if every bone was burning, her blood was boiling. It was worst in her head.

_I will not scream._ She concentrated hard on that thought, but it was nearly impossible. She didn´t risk to take a breath. She was the greatest witch of her time and she woul not scream.

Suddenly, he let go of her. He got down to his knees, tears in his eyes.

"Rowena," he whispered, hardly loud enough to be understood.

She got on her feet, and he followed her.

She had to perform the charm now or never. Each of the founders had invented an own kind of spells or charms. The ones of Salazar would later be called The Unforgivable Curses. Hers were the song charms.

Touching the talisman around her neck, she started to sing.

_She sings like she used to sing for me - a long time ago. But I do not know that song._ He suddenly realised that he was not able to move anymore, or to stop looking into her eyes. He was feeling weaker and weaker. And somehow he knew that this song was going to kill him. Pain was pulsing in him - not the sudden, violent one of the Cruciatus curse, but something that began warm and light, but increased with every beat of his heart, with every word she sung.

Tears were rolling down her face, but she continued. She saw the growing insanity of death in his eyes. She saw him dying.

_It will kill him, but it will never kill his kind._

Rowena was shaking. Not that she had only killed the only person she had ever loved (and hated just the same) - but she had also seen into the malice eyes of death.

She knelt down next to him. And cried.

(August 24th, 981)

Rowena has not been the same since this incident. She has stopped teaching. If she goes on like that, we will need a new Arithmancy and Ancient Runes teacher. I know it is hard for her, but she has to get over it.

_(Told by Helga Hufflepuff)_

(October 31st, 981)

Hush, little baby, don´t say anything. Don´t tell Salazar, for I am going to pick flowers for him. It is his birthday, you know. I am going on bare feets, so he will not hear me. My feet are so cold, and why is my face wet? It is raining, I forgot.

It is also thundering, because it is late autumn, and I don´t need to worry anymore if Salazar can hear me. There are no flowers, and my child is yet unborn.

Just why? Good God, why?

_(Told by Rowena Ravenclaw)_

(January 1st, 982)

Just point the wand towards your chest, and say the words, _Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, Avada..._ You never taught me that curse, it would have been so useful now. There has never been a spell that I was not able to perform,so why do I fail now?

(_Told by Rowena Ravenclaw)_

(February 2nd, 982)

Little daisies on the ground, and there are roses for you and dandelion for me, and pansies and rosmary, forget-me-not and a liliacea here and there and violets, and that is chrysanthemum, astera compositae, and helianthus annus, and over there, an euphorbia. But the roses have got thorns and I am walking on glass, the lilies are blood-stained, and it is still winter.

_(Told by Rowena Ravenclaw)_

(February 7th, 982)

She has behaved strange lately. Will she ever get over that night?

_(Told by Godric Gryffindor)_

March 24th, 982)

Godric is dead. He was bitten by that blasted snake of Salazar´s.

Rowena´s sanity is lost forever, I fear.

_(Told by Helga Hufflepuf)_

(May 6th, 982)

Her daughter was born a week ago. I have taken her, for I believe that Rowena can´t be responsible for a child anymore.

_(Told by Helga Hufflepuff)_

(June 1st, 982)

Isn´t this funny? To watch one´s mind decline so slowly but yet so... successfully?

Where is my child, you stole her,you named her Hedwig. That is ridiculous, for Hedwig means "battle", and did not we kill Salazar to stop the war?

Just why?

_(Told by Rowena Ravenclaw)_

(July 23rd, 982)

It has been a year now, and this year without him has been worse than the eleven years before. I have already hidden two of the talisman´s three jewels in different places. The last jewel, the blue one for Ravenclaw, lies right here in my palm.

I am outside the castle, at the border of the lake, I stand beside a wild rose bush with red and white blossoms. The sun is setting, and as it does so, the colours of the scene are getting warmer and warmer.

It is so idyllic it hurts my eyes. My feet are bare, as always. I shiver slightly as I plunge my foot into the water. I wade as deep as I can, then swim towards the middle of the lake - towards the sun. The brilliant water glows orange.

I am exactly where I want to be. I feel the jewel burning in my fist. It is as if it becoming a part of me.It is getting harder to let go. I had the same feeling with the other jewels.

I drop it.

I never knew magical jewels glow under water. This one glows brilliant turquoise, brighter than the sun.

That was the difficult part. The next one will be easy

I stop breathing.

_(Told by Rowena Ravenclaw)_

(July 24th, 982)

I found her body this morning, right where the weeping willow´s branches touch the water. As she can´t be buried on the Christian graveyard, the teachers and I will bury her in the vault down at the dungeons, where Salazar already lies.

(_Told by Helga Hufflepuff)_


	2. Rain

**Update: Chapters 2 and 3 have been combined. For the disclaimer, see prologue.**

_Last Sunday, a terror act was comitted at a muggle train station in Halifax. Two muggles died,others were injured, when platform two exploded. The Ministry of Magic's initial suspicion these murders were comitted by the Dark Lord has turned out to be true._

_All witnesses have been treated with memory spells.. That was the second attack of this kind this month. Two weeks ago, the Ministry auror Arnold Weasley was killed by an unknown Death Eater. _

**(Taken from the Daily Prophet, July 22nd 1975)**

**July 23rd, 1975**

It was a summer night. A thunderstorm had taken place the evening before, extinguishing the heat of the day. Now the air was slightly chilly as a soft breeze went. A weird, unusual calm lay above the village of Little Whinging, as the waxing moon rose slowly in the sky.

Only a few windows were still illuminated, and the number fell steadily. At last, there was only one light still visible.

The house belonged to the Evans family. It was around 100 years old, with ivy-covered walls. The door was made from heavy oak. If you entered through this door, you stood in a small entrance room. The door to the front lead into the corridor, but you had to climb the stairs to the left to reach the second floor. The first room to the right belonged to the Evans' younger daughter, Lily, and it was also the room where the light came from.

It was a small, rectangular room with inclined walls that were covered with multi-colored paintures. The lamps were wrapped in scarfs of red and orange, and there were a few candles lit on the window-sill. The record player that stood hidden between some room plants was playing an old album by the Beatles. The air was foggy, carrying a heavy arome of tobacco that would soon be joined by something else.

There were five people currently occupying the room. One of them was Lily Evans herself, the other ones friends of hers: James Potter and Sirius Black, the infamous mischief-makers from Hogwarts, Remus Lupin, Justine McKinnon, also a fellow witch from school, and a muggle called Thomas Halley.

Thomas lay a rectangular piece of white cigarette paper in front of him, filling it with tobacco leaves. The other ones watched him silently, as the boy took a brown cubus out of his pocket and burned it with a lighter. Then he put the pulver over the tobacco. He formed the whole into something long, thin, that resembled a cigarette - finished.

It was around two hours later now. James and Sirius were busied with some chocolat, though they were rather playing with the silvery paper it was wrapped in than actually eating. Justine was talking intensely to Remus, not noticing that he wasn't listening at all, but looking at the strange reflexes the orange light did on her green-dyed hair. Deep in thoughts, Lily leant against Thomas. He wrenched absent-mindedly a strand of her hair around his finger, and the record player was still playing the Beatles.

Lily was on the Hogwarts grounds, near the lake. The sun had not risen yet, only a thin red stripe of dawn was already visible at the horizon. The clear water of the lake was untroubled, its surface reflecting the fading starlight. No sound was audible, no bird raised its voice to sing, no other animal would disturb the fake peacefulness. She stood next to a wild rose bush, whose blossoms already showed signs of withering. She looked down at her hands, which were very white and thin. Although it was warm, she shivered. Both her long blue robes and her hair were soaking wet, and she did not know why. The silence felt to her as if a heavy mist had fallen down on earth,stifling every sound. Her restlessness began to increase as she wanted to move, but found herself incapable. So she was forced to watch the sunrise, and the warm, reddish morning light revealed something she hadn't noticed before - a group of white lilies that were growing near the water, bloodstains on their petals.

And the dream's illusion faded away, its brilliant colors changing into the dark, shadowy grey of Lily´s room. Only slowly awakening, she still thought she could hear a female voice singing softly, too softly to understand any words of the song. It, too, soon died away.

Lily noiselessly climbed out of her bed, not wanting to disturb Justine, who slept on a mattress on the floor. She arrived at the window and stared out of it. The red light of the sunrise remembered her of her dream even more. Some of its content seemed so familiar to her, but she couldn´t say why. So she watched dawn until tiredness began to conquer her once more and she went back to sleep.

_You-know-who strikes again_

_Another attack, the worst so far, of the Dark Lord has occured. In the village of Little Whinging, a muggle family was murdered with the killing course. After noticing the Dark Mark over their house, a witch from the neighbourhood called the Ministry. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters had already disapparated when the aurors arrived. All they could do was to give out memory charms to the police officials, convincing them of a collective suicide of the family. _

_Similar to the other attacks, there does not seem to be a motive for the murder. However, muggles and muggle-born wizards seem to be the main targets of the You-know who._

(Taken from the Daily prophet, July 29th 1975)

July 31th 1975

Two days after the murder, the village still seemed to be in shock. Even the weather agreed with the general mood. It was raining, unobtrusively but steadily. The sky was veiled with massive grey clouds, and every tree, every house and everyone who left home produced the impression of being permeated with water. The former brilliant colors of the nature were now somehow subdued.

Four new graves lay open in a row. A group of people were gathered on the graveyard to pay a family the last honors. Beside from a few distant relatives, there were only men and women from the village.

From left to right, the tombstones read:

Frank Martin Halley (1932 - 1975)

Nancy Halley (1937 - 1975)

Thomas Halley (1958 - 1975)

Sabrina Joy Halley (1966 - 1975)

Among the crowd, there stood a red-haired girl, her eyes focused on some point in mid-air. Drops of water were runnung down her face, but an outside observer could not say wether they were rain or tears.

Can one imagine that we have been happy? We were like children, just playing. To us, the Dark Lord has been something like a bogeyman. We did not accept he actually existed. Vol-de-mort, the name refuses to leave my mind now. You proved me your existence in a cruel way.

We were so innocent.

But I willl have my revenge. One time.

(Told by Lily Evans)

Earth fell on the coffins, one after the other was buried.

The long, echoing hallway was somehow lit, but Lily could not say how, as the torches on the walls had been extinguished a long time ago. She figured out she had to be somewhere at Hogwarts, but in an underground part of the castle that she had never seen before and that was obviously not used anymore. This time, she was able to move, but she could not control the direction.

She took a corridor to the left, went down a spiral staircase, passed another hallway, went downstairs again until she lost her sense of direction. Finally, after what seemed to be at least twenty minutes she arrived in a round vault. The room was not big, but now the light had diminished enough to let everything apart from its middle fade into darkness. Lily saw to epitaphs engraved in the stone ground, and when she knelt down to read them, she gasped in surprise.

"Salazar Slytherin ... Rowena Ravenclaw," she deciphered. She had not known, until now, that the graves of two of the founders had actually been inside Hogwarts. She was trying to decode the further inscriptions on Slytherin´s grave, which were in Latin, when she heard a squealing sound behind her. She turned and saw Rowena's grave panel rise slowly into the air. Lily closed her eyes, hoping that she could escape her dream, but without success. As she opened her eyes again, Rowena Ravenclaw, or rather what was left of her, had emerged from the grave.

The body looked still human, but highly deceased. The long dark hair lay matted around a skeletonized face that was twisted in a dead grin. Her bony white hands seemed to hold something. Lily shrinked back in fright. When Rowena began to talk, her voice did not seem to come from her mouth, but was echoed throughout the vault.

"My appearance seems to scare you," she said softly and somehow sadly.

"I try to change that." With this words, her body seemed to recover. The flesh reappeared on her face, her bony figure was formed again. Finally she looked almost ... alive. One could see the old beauty, only her hair and robes were soaking wet, and the skin of her face and hands was too pale to be human.

Rowena made a step forward. Lily pressed against the wall. This woman was taller than her, and as Rowena raised her hands, she closed her eyes again in fear. She felt the cold hands around her neck, felt the water that was dripping down on her shirt, waited for those hands to strangle her...

Then they let go.

Lily opened her eyes. Rowena was gone. But around her neck, there was some kind of amulet. She looked at it. It was made from silver and looked like there had once been three jewels, however, they missed now. Then she heard a song that she would soon forget and ... awakened.

(August 5th, 1975)

The bright morning sun was shining through the open window. Outside of her room, birds were singing. The rain of the last week had finally stopped.

Lily found herself lying in her bed. Even during her dream she had known that it had been unreal, but nevertheless she was relieved she had been right. She just got out of bed when she almost let out a scream.

When her hands had touched her neck, her fingers found some necklace. Hastily she took it off. One second later she realized that it was only the present Thomas had given her for her 16th birthday.

To think of Thomas was painful.

She raised her hands to her neck to put it on again. And this time, she really screamed, remembering the feeling of two cold, wet hands. For the collar of her night-dress was wet.

An owl flew through the window, dropped a letter and vanished again.

(Chapter 2)

Lily's heart was beating fast and she heard the sound of her breathing in her ears, as she was trying to calm down, searching for a plausible reason for the water to be there. But she knew she wouldn't find one. That was the magical world after all, and it happened to be one of the few moments when she wished to be a muggle. Still shivering, but finally calming down, she got out of her wet shirt and pulled on her daily clothes.

Then she looked at the letter. It turned out to be the annual Hogwarts letter. Lily was relieved. After that weird dream she had been halfway sure the owl would have meant something sinister, too. She ripped the envelope open. A shiny badge fell out of it, declaring her Head Girl. She wasn´t too surprised, Dumbledore had told her last year the staff was considering her for the position.

As her family wasn't there, she didn't have anything to do, she decided she could as well get her new school books in Diagon Alley. She stuffed the book list into her bag, took some muggle moneyto exchange at Gringotts and headed out of the house.

It promised to be a beautiful warm summer day. A soft wind blew, and the sun was rising, it was still far away from noon. Most people were on vacation, for she didn´t meet a single person on the street. On her way to the station she had to walk through what most of the younger villagers called hippie city: a quarter full of new-built houses, standing strictly in line. They were all white with red roofs and had tiny, neat front gardens. The people who lived there had mostly moved from London to Little Whinging because of the better air and countryside charm. The name was a joke made by someone Lily knew distantly: he was convinced that whoever made up all the street names in hippie city must have been high on marijuana at the time. If this were the case, Lily thought, her own parents must have been on a similar drug when they had named their daughters after flowers, but they were certainly not from the hippie generation.

Currently she was walking along Daisy Lane, looking at the houses and wondering why anyone would want to move to such a stereotypical area, everything looked the same and one could get lost easily between the long rows of houses.

Half an hour later, she arrived at the station. She bought a ticket for London, then climbed onto the train. It was rather far to London, almost 90 minutes by train, but Lily preferred this mode, as opposed to traveling via floo powder. The fireplace at the Evans´ home had been part of the floo net for more than five years now and she had some experience in using it, she still loved traveling by train while looking out of the window.

The landscape behind the glass passed by. Trees, meadows and villages followed each other. Suddenly, Lily thought of Thomas, something she had avoided for the last weeks. She couldn´t help but weeping softly until the engine´s regular, omnipresent sound surrounded her somehow, leading her into a deep and fortunately dreamless sleep. She didn´t wake up until the train arrived in London.

When she awoke, she felt somehow better. She got off the train and headed for The Leaky Cauldron and was greeted by Tom shortly after entering the bar. Then she proceeded into Diagon Alley. It was less crowded as it would be at the very end of the holidays, and Lily spotted the first fellow Gryffindor at the ice-cream parlor. Sirius Black was grinning at her.

"You look totally awake," he greeted her.

"Good morning to you, too," she shot back, "and you look like death warmed up." This was true. The rings under Sirius' eyes were probably as dark as the ones under hers, if not darker.

"James and I were on a - er - little party last night." Sirius looked around and muttered to himself: "He's probably sleeping in and letting good old reliable Sirius wait here for him."

Lily highly doubted that the party had been that little. But she decided not to persuade the topic any further. Anyway, she wasn't very interested in hearing any gory details.

"Have you seen one of the others around?" she asked.

"What? Grown bored of me so fast? I've seen Peter around, but his mother insisted on him staying with her. Poor thing. Justine was here half an hour ago, but she wasn't pleased with me alone - can't understand why - and Remus wanted to come, but he's probably gone lost somewhere again..."

"I heard that," came a new voice. They turned around and Remus was standing ther with his hands on his hips. "Wow, you two look just like I'm feeling," he added.

"Why don't we then found a club for people who don't sleep enough?" Lily asked. Her eyes searched up and down Diagon Alley, until they rested on a green-haired person in the crowd. She waved at Justine. The girl found the friends at Fortescue's and came nearer. Lily wanted to greet her with a hug, but hesitated at the sight of Justine's expression.

"What bothers you, Justine?" she asked.

"I just received the Daily Prophet. A new attack of You-know-who." Justine lay the newspaper on the table. Lily quickly skimmed through the text. The articles already got shorter, she thought, as if the wizarding world got used to the attacks. One time they would probably just be random notes on the second page. Muggles had been killed by Death Eaters again. There were also rumours the Dark Lord himself had been sighted somewhere in Scotland. But if it was already in the newspapers, Lily doubted they would capture him there.

"All those muggle killings - I suppose he's almost as bad as Salazar Slytherin himself." Remus had been the first one to speak.

"But at least Slytherin got defeated at the end. They'll have to capture You-know-who some time." answered Justine. Lily shuddered. The conversation reminded her of her dream.

"So what bothers you?" Sirius asked Lily, noticing her paleness. She hesitated, then decided to tell her friends about the dream.

After she finished, there was silence. Finally, Justine spoke up.

"That is not good," she said. "My father once told me about this man who dreamt he got stabbed. When he woke up, there really was a wound, and he died two days later."

"But it was only water," Lily tried to protest. She didn't want her friends to make a big deal out of it. But Sirius didn´t agree.

"What Justine is trying to say is that perhaps it wasn't just a dream but a vision. And if it was a vision itcould come again."

"Fine," she said, "and what am I going to do now?"

"Well, I think we have to research the founders' lives and find out more about the pendant Rowena was trying to give you." Then Sirius' old smile returned. "Wow, I don't think I ever volunteered for research work."

The room had not been used for a long time. It was situated in the east of the castle, near the Ravenclaw dormitories. The only way to enter the room was by tipping a wand against a picture of Valerie the Veela and saying "Helianthus Annus". Then the wall would open and you could enter the musty, grey chamber. A thick, moth-eaten, once blue carpet covered the floor. There was a window on one side of the room, but it was charmed so it couldn´t be seen from the Hogwarts ground. It had another door on the other wall, but it was magically locked, and nobody knew how to go through it.

How the marauders had come up with the password for this room, they wouldn't tell. They had discovered it back in their second year and it had served as the starting point of most of their adventures ever since. Countless potions had been brewed here, including the animagus potion, hexes had been practiced and much mischief had been cooked up. The ceiling was partly blackened due to experiments gone wrong.

At the beginning of the school year, something had changed. There were no longer night long discussions on how to scare their current Defence against the Dark Arts teacher (however, this year's teacher deserved them), they no longer tried out the latest wizard's fireworks improvements, but the room´s occupants were taken over by a strange and unusually constructive activity. Book after book was being brought in, mainly from the Restricted Section of the library, and was being searched through for the tiniest hint concerning the amulet. But here was a great amount of books about the Hogwarts founders in the library.

It lies in people's personalities that they can do great work while facing a certain danger threatening them directly, or if they have an idea they want to realize. However, you can´t keep up a state of constant alertness for a long period of time, especially if there isn´t any success visible; people´s minds just don´t work that way.

That's exactly what happened to the marauders and Lily and Justine: it began with not reading the books carefully, but merely skimming through. Then they didn't even look at all the books anymore, but tended to choose the thinner ones first. Also, the marauders had lost a good part of their reputation at school while hardly pulling any pranks at all, and a younger group of mischief makers with far less experience and ideas, but much more free time, began to draw all the attention on themselves. Now, after months, they only occasionally read a founders book, but occupied themselves with mischief making again. This was the reason why they almost missed the first really important hint...

(November 31th 1975)

It was some minutes after midnight. In their secret room, James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily and Justine sat in a circle once again. They had discussed other topics, such as the younger prankster group and how to prove who the real Hogwarts marauders were. But after a certain time, when they had run out of discussion topics, they had told themselves they could give their project a last chance.

"You know what, Lily?", said Sirius, "this is the last book on the founders that I´m ever going to touch. We will receive top grades in history of magic this year, that´s a fact." He grabbed at the book that was at the bottom of the stack, causing all the other books to topple over. It left a mess.

"You know what, Sirius? You're a moron," James commented, shaking his head. He, too, grabbed a book. He snatched another book, only whe he carelessly seized it by ist cover, it fell open, and out fell another one. It was far thinner than the book it had been shaken from, written by hand, and apparently very old. Delighted that he wouldn't have to read a fat textbook, he looked at the title.

"Damn-it... who speaks Latin in here?" he asked.

"Why don´t you just take another one?" replied Peter, not even looking at James.

However, Remus took a look at the title. The other ones knew that it had to be something rather important when they saw his jaw drop.

"Okay, if I can trust my Latin knowledge - which is not given - then this is...", he drew a deep breath, "... Rowena Ravenclaw's personal diary." This proclamation was followed by a brief moment of silence.

"Apperently it covers the time of 981 to 982. The year when she grew insane." Silence again.

For the next few weeks, their activity had reawakened. They translated more and more about the pendant. The diary was difficult to read, as it had been written in Latin by someone who had grown more and more insane. But they finally found out that the three jewels and the amulet itself were hidden somewhere in Hogwarts, but it did not share their exact locations. They also learned that it had the powers to kill even the greatest wizards, whether good or bad. This scared the marauders a bit, the idea that Lord Voldemort could place his evil hands on the amulet was rather frightening. Their fear caused a one-week break in their research. But they hadn´t been the marauders if they had not finished something that thea had set their minds to. Luckily, because they learned that the founders, who had (of course) realized that the amulet had way too much power, and might fall into the wrong hands, had enchanted it so it could not be used by any pureblood wizard or witch.

(December 10th, 1975)

It was late at night, outside of the Hogwarts grounds. The meadow was covered in hoarfrost, as the temperature had been below zero for the first time this year. A sharp wind blew across the field between two villages. There were no clouds in the sky, so starlight penetrated the earth without any difficulties.

There, on the meadow and freezing, stood the traitor. The Dark Lord is late, but there was no allowance to think of such things. So the traitor merely waited. About half an hour later, Lord Voldemort finally apparated.

"You said you've got something interesting for me?" he asked. The traitor nodded.

"I hope it is not as much as a time-waste as last time," he added with a deathly calm voice. The traitor shuddered, remembering the pain of the Cruciatus curse. Surely the Dark Lord wasn't going to do it this time, would he?

"I found out how you possibly could defeat your worst enemy." Even in the traitor's ears it sounded like a joke. Lord Voldemort watched his servant lowering the head in fright of a new hit of the torturing curse. But instead of this, the traitor saw Voldemort's eyes narrow. A small hint of a smile appeared on the Dark Lord's face as he came closer.

"Well then, young servant, tell me more," he hissed.

(The same time, another place)

New dreams haunted Lily's sleep, dreams of death and sorrow while insane laughter rang in her ears. She woke up many times, trying to calm down and forget what she dreamt, but whenever she closed her eyes, the same pictures appeared.


	3. Ingirum imus nocte...

Liliacea - Chapter 4

Ingirum imus nocte...

It was the last Wednesday before the Christmas holidays, and while most Hogwarts students were gleefully preparing to go home for three weeks, the Gryffindor Quidditch team, led by Amely stone, a fourth year, was practicing in the rain. The sun had long since set over the muddy pool that had once been labeled a Quidditch pitch. There was a depressing lack of greenness that symbolized life around the Hogwarts grounds; the only trees that still held their leaves were those of the forbidden forest, but most people avoided looking at them. The grey sky gave off a dreariness that made the players believe that if they practiced for ten more minutes, they'd goinsane. It was windy and large drops of water were slicing through the air at an angle, making it impossible to spot the quaffles, forget the snitch.

"It's time to stop this," shouted James, after being drenched by a sudden shower of rain for the third time.

"We have to practice if we want to win the Cup against Slytherin this year," replied Amely angrily. She was just as soaked as the rest of the team, but did not seem to notice. Amely was a fourth year with an incredible talent as a Keeper, but without any ambitions aside from Quidditch.

"You won't have achieved anything if you've managed to have us all frozen by Christmas," said Lily. She was in a particularly bad mood due to her wearing her thin Quidditch robes instead of a warm winter cloak. But to be honest, her mood wasn't that much worse than Amely's.

"As if you can complain, you were the worst player tonight!"

"You know that I'm only Frank's substitute, and you know that I've never had any talent at the seeker's position." Lily turned to go.

"See, Amely, some people actually have a life. We have to take our NEWTs this year," added James. He was too polite to point out his real opinion: the Slytherin team had seven incredibly good players, while the Gryffindors, apart from Amely and maybe himself were rather inexperienced. They would never be able to reach the Slytherins' level within a year.

"Your lack of discipline will ruin us! While this team is in desperate need of fighting spirit, you're whining about having no time." Amely didn't get a response as James had already left.

"Fine," Amely growled, "you're dismissed. Tomorrow… here… same time. And no excuses!"

***

The next morning

The 7th year advanced Defense against the dark arts class consisted of ten students: two Gryffindors (Remus Lupin and Lily Evans), four Ravenclaws (Justine McKinnon among them), three Slytherins and one Hufflepuff. Their teacher, Professor Durak, had only been at Hogwarts for half a year. Until the end of the summer, he had been a quite successful hunter of dark beasts and had helped defend the magical community against the Dark Lord's army. However, he resigned from the position after a rather painful experience with a horde of Redcaps.

The lessons were regularly held in a circular room with windows in every direction on top of the Hufflepuff tower, - not dissimilar to their Divination classroom. Now that it was winter, it was too cold up there, due to sharp wind blowing through the fissures of the walls. The weeklong rain had finally won the war against the roof, making any experience in the room rather unpleasant. For the time being, the lessons were being held in a dungeon below the castle. There were only a few cellar windows, but the dim morning light wasn't enough to light up the chamber properly. Torches had to be lit, making the room alight and hot.

When the pupils had signed up for that lesson, they had hoped for actually learning something. They hadn't noticed that this class was merely a revision from their former years' lessons, to give them better preparation for the NEWTs. They re-learned Grindylows, Boggarts and Dementors.

Advanced defense against the dark arts was always the first lesson of the morning. The students found things to occupy themselves with whileProfessor Durak jabbered on about something.

  
  


"What were we learning yesterday?" Professor Durak asked. "Yes you, Ms. van Rozestruik," he pointed, terribly mispronouncing Lien's surname. As the head of Hufflepuff, Professor Durak favored Lien, which was a terrible burden for her because it meant that she had to pay attention in his class.

"Redcaps," she said simply. She looked as though the huge Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff joint house party held in Hufflepuff tower the previous night had really taken away from her already precious sleeping hours.

"Could you tell me a little more about the Redcaps?" Professor Durak asked.

"Evil little creatures that live in places where blood has been spilled. The name refers to their red caps that are dyed with blood.Whenever the blood has dried, they have to search for another victim," she answered in a tired voice.

"How can we fight them?"

Lien looked around desperately seeking help from her classmates. The Ravenclaws, except for Justine McKinnon were discussing their Herbology essays in low voices inside their Defense textbooks so that Professor Durak thought that they were discussing theRedcaps. Justine was plainly sound asleep, having partied the entire previous night. The Slytherins… well no one really knew what they were doing, but it involved a dead rat, a glowing orange potion in a turquoise bottle and their wands. Lily Evans was poured over a Potions assignment. Next to her, in the corner, Remus Lupin was translating Rowena Ravenclaw's diary, although Lien had no way of knowing this.

"Recite bible phrases," Lien answered, casting a long envious look at Justine.

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Professor Durak, taking no notice in Lien's lack of enthusiasm. "Twenty points to Hufflepuff." He jotted down the points and then continued. "Today we'll start…" he pushed aside an old green curtain in one dramatic gesture which revealed a medieval drawing of a werewolf. "The psychology of lycanthropes, especially those in the human form," he said finally finishing his sentence.

Lily sneezed into her Potions assignment. She was beginning to show signs of a cold, no doubt caused by the Quidditch practice inthe rain from the previous day. She quietly slid her Potions essay into her bag to keep it from suffering more damage. Perhaps the lesson would be interesting, after-all. Might there be any piquant details on Remus' character? She coughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Will you stop being so loud? I'm trying to sleep," hissed Justine, who was sitting next to her. Lily decided that this statement didn't need an answer.

"Werewolves in their human shape look like real humans. The visual differences are only tiny, and hard to notice. The colour of their eyes changes to yellow whenever they look at the moon. The true differences lie in their behaviour, in their character, and those are quite obvious. I am proud to say I've never failed to recognize a Werewolf among real humans." At this point, Lily couldn't help but giggle. She only stopped when Remus cast her a sharp glance.

"Exactly what is it that you find amusing?" asked Durak. Lily's response only consisted of another sneeze, which was followed by a fit of coughing.

"…The most obvious hint is the monthly vanishing of the person in question, at every full moon. Their character traces are subtler, yet noticeable. Werewolves can't be trusted. They will even betray people who consider them friends. They are violent and -."

Durak was interrupted when Lily had another fit of sneezing. When she got over it, she asked in a small voice: "Please, may I go see Madam Pomfrey? I think I've got a cold."

"Obviously... and hurry up, you're just distracting your fellow students." Lily grinned to herself at the idiotic comment. As she walked out of the room, she swung the door a bit too vivaciously, so it hit one of the torches on the wall, causing it to fly straight across the room, setting the werewolf picture and the curtain on fire. Of course, the wand she held outdrawn under her cloak had nothing to do with that sudden outburst of un-torch-like behaviour. Then she hurried to smash the door behind her.

Professor Durak was shocked. As an ex-hunter of magical beasts, he didn't know how to react to something like that. He recovered quickly and put out the flames with his wand, then continued on his lesson where he'd so ruddily been interrupted.

Remus sat in the far corner of the room, with a Latin textbook open before him and a hand-written copy of an excerpt of the diary next to it. During the last days, he had almost despaired over the translation. Rowena's writing style kept changing from a very dispassionate, cold use of words to a child-like, innocent voice. Also her Latin was perfect at some points and full of mistakes at others. But by now, he thought he got close to the meaning of the first few entries, very close...

"Mister Lupin! Why aren't you paying attention?" Remus managed to shove his things into his bag before Durak arrived at his table. Now Durak stood directly before him, so Remus - being the Werewolf he was - could not only smell that the professor had had scrambled eggs and a jam toast for breakfast, but further noticed Durak was using strawberry soap for washing, something that rather amused him.

"There's no reason to laugh! You're attitude towards learning is un-bear-able! How do you think I reached the position I'm in now! Through hard work, and paying attention in my lessons! You will never make it! You should take Miss van Rozestruik as a role model." Lien looked rather embarrassed. Exactly how many ways are there to pronounce van Rozestruik? Remus wondered. In the other corner of the room, Justine mumbled something about loud teachers distracting her sleep. Fortunately, Durak didn't hear here.

"So, answer this question, or else Gryffindor will lose fifty points because of you." Durak's red face came even closer to Remus, causing him to hold his breath. "What is it Werewolves are most afraid of, apart from the full moon?" he asked with a look of triumph on his face. Lien tried to whisper the answer to Remus, but her voice was too soft. Remus knew it anyway.

"It's silver," he said matter-of-factly. Professor Durak seemed disappointed as he returned to the front of the class. He drew something out of his velvet green briefcase. Something long, thin, and silvery.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the silver dagger with which I myself have killed many werewolves that have endangered villages and people. Of course, I also had to kill their victims." Remus snorted in disgust, not believing his ears. "I will now give it around so you can all examine it," announced Durak. He lay the dagger in front of a Ravenclaw girl in the first row. After a quick and rather uninterested look at it, she gave it to the student behind her, who did the same procedure. Now it was situated on a Slytherin's table one row in front of Remus. The Slytherin held the dagger against the light, then turned around. At the sight of Remus, his face twisted into an evil smile as he lay the dagger onto Remus' desk. It was Severus Snape.

Remus looked at the silver dagger. It lay there, in its fake silver innocence, but yet it had killed so many people. And it would hurt him, too. But he couldn't raise attention on the fact that he was not able to touch silver. And the person whom he had to pass it on - Justine - sat in the other courner of the room, as Lily between them had gone Remus cursed himself for hot having pulled on his cloak, due to the heat in the room. He wore a simple short-sleeve muggle shirt instead - nothing to cover his hands with. Finally he decided to face the agony by touching the dagger.

The pain was bad, but he was used to pain, so he managed not to cry out. He crossed the room as quickly as possible, lay the dagger on Justine's desk and got back to his own seat, hiding his burned hand in his pocket. Severus still smiled. Fortunately, the lesson was over five minutes later. Remus was the first to exit through the door, closely followed by Justine. She urged him into a courner of the hallway.

"Show me your hand," she ordered. Remus shrunk back.

"There's nothing wrong with my…" she held her hand over his mouth and forced his hand out of the pocket. It looked very bad: a burn of second degree was purple in his palm.

"You'll better see Madam Pomfrey now. I'm coming with you," she said in a cold voice.

"So you hate me now, don't you?" he replied angrily. She turned around to face him.

"I don't hate Werewolves, but I despise people who aren't honest. Did the others know?"

"They figured it out themselves. This is nothing I want to tell everybody…"

"So I'm just like everybody to you," she murmured, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

***

The evening of the same day, in the marauders' room

That night, Peter, Sirius, Remus and Justine had to wait a long time before Amely finally released James and Lily from Quidditch training, the latter one being healthy again after a swallow of Madam Pomfrey's Pepperup potion. But Remus had insisted on waiting for them before releasing the news. Finally, they turned up.

"What's up? I feel like - hmm - sleeping," said Lily lazily after entering through the door. Both she and James were soaked once again due to the miserable December weather.

"I think I've worked out how to find the Hufflepuff jewel," Remus said proudly. Lily's eyes widened. "It says in this book that there is information in this castle how to get to the room where the jewel is hidden and the password for it. And do you know where that information is?"

"O master-who knows-everything, please tell that worthless hippie that I am," pleaded Lily, getting dramatically to her knees. With a great gesture, Remus took a piece of parchment full of notes out of his pocket and read it to her.

"The secret is hidden in the room to where the password is… Helianthus Annus. Took me forever to figure that out, Rowena's Latin was quite messy at that point." Peter's jaw dropped as he realized what that meant.

"This room," he said slowly. "But I thought we have already searched it thoroughly."

"Apparently not. Come on, let's begin," said Sirius." Can we, please, delay this? I feel like I could fall asleep standing on my feet, and tomorrow we've got that Astronomy exam that shall qualify us for the NEWTs." While James looked like he agreed, Remus and Sirius seemed rather disappointed.

"Well, there's no option on doing this tomorrow…" began Sirius.

"Why?"

"See, I've got this date..." Lily threw her book at him - a fat volume that still hadn't been returned to the library from their research.

"You know, you should really return that. I'm not paying the late fee." Lily threw another book.

"But I have to agree, this time. Tomorrow is bad. If we did it on Friday night, we could sleep in the other day."

"I can't," said Justine at once, "my folks want me to be at home one day earlier these holidays." She looked a bit miserable.

"The same goes for me," said Remus with a sigh, "we've got a nice fat full moon on Friday."

Peter seemed to be a bit uncomfortable. "I'm sorry to admit, but I've got a really big family meeting to attend - my grandfather wants to have his family and friends around him on his birthday, annoying sort of things, you know…" he stopped to face Lily's wrath, but instead, a wide grin spread on her face.

"Do you know what that means? We will actually be able to fit under the Invisibility cloak again! No more getting caught by Filch, I mean, it does get embarrassing after a while..."

"Um, Lily?" James asked, interrupting her, "exactly what drug are you on?" Lily didn't bother to answer.

***

Friday night

The Gryffindor Quidditch team practiced in the pouring rain once again. There was one difference, though, a single fan, dressed in a warm coat - and drawing Lily's envious stare onto him - a huge Gryffindor flag wrapped around his neck, was jumping up and down and cheering at every move the players made, especially Lily's and James'. He clapped when a bludger hit Amely into the stomach, cheered when James once again missed the goal by several metres. He even managed to send red and golden sparks into the air, forming the words 'Go Gryffindor!' when Lily, in her attempt to catch the Snitch, fell from her broomstick into the mud. Finally, it was enough for Amely's already weakened nerves.

"Go tell that moron he shall move back into the castle or else something unpleasant will happen!" She screamed in order to make herself audible in the thunderstorm. James lifted his non-existent hat.

"James Potter, at your service." He would have bowed if that had been possible on a broomstick, then hurried down to their fan.

"Mr. Sirius Black, I shall deliver the following message to you: either you'll leave or Miss Stone will hurt you." Sirius made big eyes at this.

"Has she forgotten yesterday's events so soon?" James nearly fainted.

"Tell me that was a joke - no it wasn't, you're stupid enough to do something like that! Did you really date her? God… you must be desperate..."

"Let's say this isn't a topic I want to discuss any further." Sirius seemed a bit depressed. "I've actually come to save you from drowning and remind you to do something constructive."

James just rolled his eyes in despair and cast a short glance at Amely, who was waiting furiously twenty metres above him. "Just give us fifteen minutes, okay?" James asked, then rose up into the sky.

Twenty-five minutes later, the remaining three marauders met in their meeting room. After a short glance at the room, Lily was convinced that their mission would be fruitless. There was the ancient chandelier, the thick, moth-eaten carpet, the window, a few books on the floor, including Rowena's diary, the wall on one side of the room, where one could see the bricks...

"Let's remove the carpet," she suggested half-heartedly. The others helped. The original floor consisted of parquet, and one could clearly see that one of the boards was loose. After a tiny use of violence, they managed to remove it. In fact, there was a small hole inside, including a piece of parchment and something Lily remembered - something silverish... it was the necklace from her dream. She took it and placed it around her neck, without really thinking about it. Meanwhile, James had unfolded the parchment.

"Oh wonder, it's English..."

"What does it say?" Sirius asked.

"The Hufflepuff jewel is hidden in my private chamber, the password is the following: Ingirum imus... well, a lot of Latin stuff."

"Well, does anyone know where Rowena's private chamber was?" Lily asked.

"The Ravenclaws always claim that a tunnel to its entrance begins in their common room, but they don't know the password."

"And where do you know that?" asked James, but he knew the answer anyway.

"I once had a girlfriend..."

The marauders prepared themselves to break into the Ravenclaw common room, and as they did so, Lily asked herself whether this success had been too easy.

***

Five minutes later, all three of them under the Invisibility cloak stood in front of a closed door. "Give me some time, I know the password... um, Ruebezahl?" The door remained as closed as it had been before.

"Damn, they've changed it since the last time I had a Ravenclaw girlfriend." Sirius began to sound desperate. At that moment, the door suddenly opened. Two students, a boy and a girl, both sixth years, exited out of the common room and vanished behind the next courner. After them, a cloud of grey smoke emerged into the hallway. Sirius, James and Lily hurried to sneak into the Ravenclaw common room before the door shut.

They entered a party. Almost all the Ravenclaws up from year five seemed to be gathered together. They were lying on the floor, sitting on a couch and on armchairs, dancing, smoking... The three Gryffindors sneaked into a courner in order to not accidentally hit somebody.

"So where's the entrance, Mr I-know-other-common-rooms-better-than-my-own?" Lily whispered.

"It has to be somewhere behind the fireplace, we have to get through the flames, then there's an unreal wall, like the one that leads to platform 9 3/4."

"Though I'd love to stay," James said slowly, "and get high by passive smoking... wait - I'm coming, I'm coming..."

When they arrived at the fireplace, Lily did an easy flame freezing charm, and they walked through the flames. It was a warm, tickling feeling, and Lily knew at once why Wendelin the Weird had let hersulf burn on the stake forty-seven times - this was addictive. Much too soon, they had emerged in a dark corridor.

"Lumos!" they all said at once, and it got a bit brighter. The corridor turned left and right, though there weren't any doors on the sides. Then there was a small staircase. Finally, the corridor ended in a simple oak door. Lily tried pushing it, but it was magically locked.

"Oops, I've forgotten the parchment with the password," said Sirius. Lily kicked him against the shin.

"I've got it," said James. He cleared his throat, enrolled the small piece of parchment and began: "Ingirum imus nocte..." At those words, the door suddenly opened and cleared the sight onto a window, another door, a rolled carpet, some books on the floor... Lily entered the room and picked up Rowena's diary, then turned around to the others, an expression of frustration on her face.

"I begin to hate this room," she said. "I mean, where shall we search in here else?"

"...Et comsumimur igni," continued James. When he stopped, Lily was convinced she heard a little girl giggling.

The room exploded.

***

The same time, another place

"Who are you?" asked a man in a black hood, "I've never met you at a previous meeting." The traitor shrugged. "Let's just say I'm Lord Voldemort's special Hogwarts informant. I have to talk to him."

"Patience, young friend. He is busy, has to deal with those sycophants..." he gestured to the crowd of Death Eaters who were gathered in the assembly room of the Malfoy Manor, "before he can get to the important things."

"I can wait."

Disclamer:

Everything belongs to JK Rowling. A few sentences are Juliette's. The phrase "Ingirum imus nocte et consumimur igni" is also not mine. I first heard it in the song "Salamandrina" by Einstürzende Neubauten, but I vaguely remember having read that it isn't theirs, either. All I know is that it's the longest known palyndrome (just try it and read the phrase backwards).

A/N: Thank you to my reviewers (Am I repeating myself? Nooo...). These are: Sara Potter, Mortalus, Kolan, Davita, JEssICAZ, and phoenixvscrazysnow. Cherries to you.

I appreciate feedback. I really do.  


The Divine Comedian


	4. ...Et consumimur igni

It had taken a long time. The number of Death Eaters still gathered in Malfoy Manor fell steadily, though, over the passing hours. Long after midnight, Voldemort finally called for the traitor, who nervously entered the hall.  
"My Lord, I'm afraid I don't have any news this time," informed the traitor after bowing.  
"What happened?" demanded Voldemort menacing his servant, who didn't dare to catch the master's eyes.  
"They're going for the first jewel tonight," replied the traitor.  
"This is Rowena Ravenclaw we're talking about. She has chosen the hiding places carefully... is it indisputable that they'll find it?"  
"They will, my Lord, without a doubt. There's not a single place in Hogwarts they don't know." Had the servant perhaps responded a bit too quickly, a bit too convinced of the own words? The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed.  
"Still have loyalty to those friends, do we?" The Dark Lord came closer to the traitor until only a few centimetres separated their faces.  
"Love, hate, friendship - they don't exist!" Voldemort spat each word into the traitor's horrified face. "There's only power... _Crucio_!"  
The traitor screamed - a piercing, high-pitched shrill that didn't sound even remotely human. Losing control of arms and legs, the traitor did not register hitting the floor through the pain. Voldemort waited a moment until his servant managed to form words of plea and mercy between the screams. He then removed the curse.  
The traitor continued murmuring incoherently on the ground.  
"Is that a way to speak to your master?" the lord's booming voice demanded. "Crucio!" He watched the traitor writhing in pain once more.  
Voldemort removed the curse a moment later, waiting only as long as he knew there would be no permanent damage. The traitor remained on the ground, crawling towards the master's feet.  
Kissing Voldemort's boots, the traitor murmured: "My loyalty belongs only to you, my Lord."  
  
***  
  
Well, the room didn't explode in the normal meaning of the word. There was a loud bang and everything seemed to burst into flames. The window went into pieces. Around them, the marauders saw that all the walls were aflame. The carpet was burning as well. The curtains burned and the chandelier burned. The book in Lily's hands burned.  
"Ouch! Oh, bloody hell!" she shrieked as she realized it, and she meant every single word. The skin of her hands was already a bit burned when she reflexively dropped the book.   
The others reacted more quickly and cast flame-freezing charms on the blaze, though they wouldn't last long on such a big fire. Then the three stood in a triangle in the centre of a burning room and frightfully looked at each other with surprise and perplexity.  
Lily thought hard. On Wednesday, when she had set Professor Duraks picture on fire, what charm had he used to distinguish it? She cursed herself because she almost never listened to a single word he was saying.  
_Distinigni_ - suddenly the word was on the tip of her tongue, and she let it burst from her mouth.  
Thick foams spurt out of her wand. The recoil was hard, but it was working against the flames. When they saw what she was doing, the others joined in.  
  
***  
  
_It's the strangest feeling to be released from the Cruciatus curse. It doesn't actually feel good; melancholic is a far better expression. My bones still ache, and they will do so for a least the next few days.__  
__The man from before is still standing on the very same place, next to the window. As I found out later, his name is Jerome Lestrange. His expression under the hood is unreadable, even when I catch his eyes. He must have heard my screams, but he's good at not showing any reaction. How does he feel? Sorry? Amused? Indifferent? The other Death Eaters avoid to look at me as I walk past them. The room is only lit by the full moon shining through the many windows. It's already setting. One hour, maybe, and Remus will transform back to his human shape. I've never been any good at astronomy.__  
__The chilly night air hits me into the face. My broom is leant against one of the trees - a weeping willow. Malfoy Manor is situated directly next to a swamp, very suitable for that family. Many of those trees grow here, giving the place a rather macabre look.__  
__Suddenly, my head starts hurting so hard that I have to sit down. My glance goes back to the moon, and I have to think of Remus again, and of our little gang. No one of them has ever been hit with the torturing curse, no one of them has ever had to decide between death and loyalty to the Dark Lord. Even though this meant betrayal to my best friends, I decided out of my free will.__  
__My headache becomes worse. It often happens when I'm angry. It also often happens when I try to sleep, so I try to avoid sleeping, if I can. I don't sleep longer than five hours a night, on average, and then only when I'm so tired that I don't notice the pain.__  
__My parents are aurors. Yes, they really are - life can be ironic at times, can't it? I often wonder what they would do if they knew their child was a Death Eater. Would they send me to Azkaban? I bet they would.__  
__Cold from the ground is slowly creeping into my body. My hands and feet are already numb so I can't feel the pain in them anymore.__  
__That's what my life has become: headaches and cold. Depressing, isn't it?__  
__I have to go now. Christmas holidays start today, and my family in Scotland expects me to be there at ten. I will meet Lily soon, but she has probably hidden the jewel -if they have found it - in Hogwarts.__  
__I'm really looking forward to this broom ride. Only six hours or so from Malfoy Manor to Hogsmeade, where I live, on a slightly unbalanced and rather old Shooting Star, and my hell of a headache is not helping, either. This promises to continue being a really wonderful night, just as it has started._  
(Told by the traitor)  
  
***  
  
Wind blew through the broken window, carrying the ash from one corner of the room to the other one and vice versa. After the fire had been distinguished, the catastrophe that once had been a chamber was hidden by merciful darkness. Feeling miserable, the marauders sat in the middle of the room. It took a while until one of them raised his voice.  
"I knew this was to easy," said Sirius, "how are your hands?"  
Lilys glance was lost somewhere. She was breathing slowly, trying to calm down.  
"The diary - it's lost." Her voice was merely a whisper. All colour had been drained from her face. She didn't even seem to notice her burned hands anymore.  
James stood and helped Lily up.  
"We have to leave before the teachers turn up," he urged her. He and Sirius made their way to the door-  
"Lily, now!" Lily's eyes focused on him.  
"It's lost," she said with the same strange calm in her voice. James grabbed her hand, causing her to react on him for he first time after the fire.  
"Ouch!"  
"Oops, sorry," he said, letting go of her hand. The boys headed for the door through which they had entered the room.  
"Why aren't we taking the other door?" asked Lily a bit confusedly.  
"The Ravenclaws must have heard the noise - we have to convince them to not call a teacher." pointed James out.  
They ran through the tunnel. Strangely, it seemed to be longer than before, and the smell of the fire hung in the air. Lily rushed through the fake wall and whispered the flame-freezing charm just in time to not get burned again. The others jumped after her.  
When they arrived at the Ravenclaw common room, Lily noticed several things at once. First, they had left James' Invisibility cloak behind. Second, all three of them looked quite a mess. Third, they were in serious trouble.  
In the middle of five or six rather puzzled Ravenclaws, there stood Minerva McGonagall, furiously.  
  
"Can you explain to me -," the anger from te beginning had left to be replaced by a piercing cold in Professor McGonagall's voice, "what on earth you were doing in that room?"   
Lily, who even under normal circumstances was not a very tall person, seemed to shrink even further into her chair. At that late hour, they had been forced to follow McGonagall into Dumbledore's office. Even the professor herself had been surprised to see the headmaster awake at this time of the night.   
James and Sirius were sitting uneasily on a small red couch, Lily on the only chair and McGonagall standing by the door.  
"Nothing of importance," she muttered. And she was right, from a certain point of view. They hadn't done anything besides saying a password.  
"Certainly important enough for you to blow up a whole chamber - property of the school, if I may remind you." said Dumbledore calmly.  
"The explosion wasn't our fault, headmaster," protested Sirius. But Albus Dumbledore in his forest-green night gown seemed to impress even him.  
"That would be a first, Mr Black." replied McGonagall icily. Dumbledore cast his glance on her.  
"Minerva, you can leave now. Thanks for bringing them up here - good night." he said. McGonagall looked as though she wanted to add something, but then she just muttered a reply and left. Dumbledore focused on the three friends again.  
"Anyway...," he said, "whether you know it or not, we've been watching you and a few others during the last months." Lily was startled. How much did the teachers know? She half wondered whether this would be the right moment to tell Dumbledore the truth, but - no. Something inside of her head refused to trust him fully.  
"It was not the first time you sneaked out of bed - don't deny it, Mr Potter - and the time has come to discontinue those activities. Your grades have been falling steadily since the beginning of the term, and as a result, the rest of the school year will decide your future..."  
Lily's hands started to hurt again. All she wanted in that moment was to get out of Dumbedore's office, so she didn't say anything in her defense.  
"Miss Evans and Mr Potter, you two have shown immaturity and inability to fulfill your duties as Head Girl and Head Boy. You're both suspended from that post. You two and Mr Black will have detention during the two weeks after the holidays and none of you will be allowed to visit Hogsmeade until the end of the school year."  
"That's it?" asked Lily, rising. The headmaster nodded and sent them out of his office.  
"Oh, Miss Evans..." added Dumbledore. "Go and see Madam Pomfrey - now."  
  
The full moon had already set one hour ago. Only a handful of stars shone through the window of the hospital room. Remus lay on the bed, his injuries were bandaged and although he had been forced to swallow a spoonful of Madam Pomfrey's sleeping potion, he couldn't come to rest. He was asking himself whether or not his friends had been successful in finding the jewel.  
He wouldn't know until the morning. His friends were caring - much too caring, for his taste -, they wouldn't disturb his sleep after a transformation. So he might as well try to sleep...  
...except for the fact he simply _couldn't_. Sleep seemed as far away from him as rain in a desert.  
His eyes had already adjusted to the dark so he could make out every detail of the room. He started to count the drawers of the white cabinet next to his bed (twelve), the number of spiders on the ceiling (three), and the dried up chamber plants on the windowsill (five and something small that he only counted as a half). Unfortunately, his surroundings were so uninteresting it was boring him to death.  
Then he concentrated on the audible world. Normally his eary were sharp enough to listen to people talking on the other side of the corridor, but when there's nobody talking, there's nothing to hear. The only thing he could hear was the monotone dropping of water somewhere in the other room - probably a defected tap. He was already looking for something else to occupy himself with, when he noticed footsteps on the corridor outside. They were coming nearer...  
Suddenly, the door was flung open and a girl burst in. Remus needed only a second to recognize her.  
"Hi Lily," he whispered. She turned around.  
"Oh sorry, did I wake you up?" she asked, searching the drawers - all twelve - for some bandages. Finally convinced that she wouldn't find any without Madam Pomfrey's help - which she hated having because the nurse treated everyone like first years -, she sat down on Remus' bed. She noticed his excitement and felt oddly sorry for bringing bad news. She told him the whole story.  
"That's it," she finished, "no jewel, our meeting room is a disaster, and the diary is nothing but ashes - but at least I'm rid of that Head Girl job."  
"What was the password?" asked Remus. He had the strange feeling that something wasn't right with it.  
Lily thought a few seconds. "Ingirum imus noctum - no, stop, nocte et consumimur igni."  
Remus allowed himself an ironic grin.  
"At least Rowena had a sense of humour, an odd one, but it was definitely there." Lily raised her eyebrows.  
"Did I miss something?" she asked.  
"The sentence means roughly translated: we wander around in circles at night and are consumed by fire."  
Lily?s face turned emotionless as she tried to digest that.  
"Oh well, I think we'll take you with us next time we try something like that. But I don't think we can continue, anyway. Someone else can defeat You-know-who." She turned to go. At this moment, the door from the other room opened and Madam Pomfrey came in.  
"There you are, Miss Evans, Professor McGonagall has already informed me of your visit, come with me, and let poor Mr Lupin sleep..." She dragged Lily behind her and closed the door. Lily wasn't feeling too well when Madam Pomfrey examined her hands - she wondered whether the nurse could smell the smoke on her clothes and, if so, whether she could identify it.   
Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey seemed too tired to begin a chat and sent her away very soon, with white bandages on her hands and stern advice to come back the next day before the Hogwarts Express left.  
Lily walked through the dark school. The corridors were slightly chilly, so she was freezing by the time she finally arrived in the Gryffindor common room. It was empty, so she knew Sirius and James had already gone to bed instead of waiting for her - a rather un-marauders-like behaviour that indicated to her how much the events of the previous night had irritated them. She herself was pretty fed up. She had lost the Head Girl post - okay, it hadn't meant anything but additional stress to her, and the detention wasn't that bad either, if she could spend it with her friends - at least she wouldn't have to attend Quidditch practice. The prohibited Hogsmeade Saturdays... this would have been actually severe for everyone else, but not for the marauders. What was really eating her was the fact she hadn't even protested when the headmaster had announced their punishment. Why shouldn't they have the right to stay awake at night? They weren't five-year-olds anymore, for heaven's sake!  
It was neary half past four in the morning. The Hogwarts Express would leave at ten and she hadn't even packed her things yet - Lily was considering not going to bed at all. But watching her room mates sleeping wouldn't be that much fun, either, and beside that she was tired. Very tired. It would be so wonderful to just close her eyes and fall asleep on that very chair...  
It was harder than it looked to drag herself up the staircase and and to her bed with pitch-black darkness surrounding her. In her particular state of mind, she hit everything possible on her way, but she finally managed it - and that was all that counted.  
  
***  
  
_"Leave me alone," she said exasperated. Lily stood in the now familiar dungeon with the two graves in the stone ground. But this time, the person she was talking to wasn't a horrible caricature of a human being, but a rather cute little girl of perhaps seven years who was sitting cross-legged on Slytherin's epigraph. But Lily had recognized Rowena Ravenclaw at once. Who else would come back to her dreams after a day like that? She was dressed in an old-fashioned, sleazy blue dress, her tangled reddish brown hair was tied into an untidy bun. Sea-coloured eyes seemed to reflect a non-existent light. __  
__"I've been watching you," said Rowena. Lily thought to herself that Rowena had certainly not been the only one. And she had read Orwell's "1984", thank you very much.__  
__"Your performance tonight was - amusing, though I have to confess that you never had much of a choice. But I actually trusted you not to be fooled by that password. In my times, most members of the magical community could speak Latin fluently."__  
__Yeah, and some of them ended up insane, thought Lily.__  
__"So that's what they say, is it?" Rowena had apparently heard it. Lily had to remind herself that this was a dream - it didn't need to be logical. Fortunately, Rowena didn't seem to care what future generations thought of her.__  
__"I'd say you passed the test." said the little girl - the slightly insane witch that looked like a little girl, Lily corrected herself.__  
__"And that means -" she said after s short pause.__  
__"You'll receive the first jewel. Here and now." __  
__"It will vanish anyway. This is just a dream, after all."__  
__Rowena's face twisted into a sarcastic smile. This looked so inappropriate on her child face that Lily didn't need any further proof that she wasn't just a girl. Rowena reached into her pocket.__  
__"The water didn't vanish from your night gown either, did it? Correct me if I'm wrong." She pulled something out and winked Lily to her, who knelt down next to her. Rowena grabbed the empty amulett around her neck that Lily had almost forgotten.__  
__"I forgot - don't tell anyone you have the jewel. I have the strange feeling that not everyone in you little group can be trusted."__  
__This time, Lily knew better than to shrink back - she would simply wake up, the jewel wouldn't be there, and she wouldn't waste any more time searching for long-lost artefacts. Everyone would be a bit more relaxed.__  
__She was really looking forward to her holidays._  
  
***  
  
Bright sunlight streamed into the dormitory. Lily turned lazily, still half-asleep, but the morning light was visible even through her eyelids, and her feet were steadily getting colder and colder. One of her lovely dorm mates must have left te window open, she thought. Probably Annie - she was such a fresh air fanatic.  
Lily counted to three and then opened her eyes. One white, freckled arm reached for the alarm clock next to her bed - an extra loud muggle fabricat to make sure she'd really wake every morning - a present from her mother. One hand brushed the hair out of her face. Two green eyes widened as they had finally focused on the clock-face. Ten past nine - Lily swore loudly.  
Five fingers of her left hand found the amulet around her neck. Contrary to everything she had thought in her dream, Lily wasn't too surprised to find a yellow crystal that had been fitted in one of the holes of the pendant. But she was much too tired to worry about it though.  
She was out of the bed in less than two seconds, racing down the stairs to the common room, where she found Sirius, James and Remus, sitting on their packed trunks.  
"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked furiously.  
"We tried - but you look so cute when you sleep," answered James mockingly.  
"No, actually we wanted to find out how fast you are when you're angry," added Remus. The boys chuckled.  
"I have to skip breakfast just because of you. And you know how insufferable I can be if I haven't eaten anything."  
"Lily, you are insufferable all the time," said Sirius, provokingly. But Lily merely vanished into the bathroom for a few minutes. With wet, tangled hair, dripping water all over the place, she headed back for her dormitory as dignified as possible.  
Having arrived there, she rummaged the content of her trunk. Fortunately, her special style of clothing didn't need too much thought. She pulled on what fell into her hands: squared dark green trousers, a shirt that was actually a very short dress in flaming orange-red, and a turquoise cardigan. They felt good, the muggle clothes, thought Lily, compared to the homogeneous black of the school uniforms. She then stuffed her night gown, the alarm clock, and her washing things into her trunk and stormed down the staircase.  
Her friends were already making their way out of the portrait hole. Lily was glad they didn't have to carry their trunks to the train - one already took half an hour from the castle to Hogsmeade.  
All in all, this day wasn't that different from all the other first days of vacation she'd experienced here.  
  
***  
  
It was the last day of Christmas vacations. Lily sat on the window-sill in her room, her legs dangling out. Absent-mindedly, she held a cigarette in her fingers, but had forgotten to light it. She was recalling her holidays. A very sad activity - she always felt melancholic when vacations were nearly over.  
Two days after she had arrived here, Justine had come over for a few nights. Lily had to tell the whole story again. Justine had seemed extremely curious.  
The next few days until Christmas she had spent with her sister Petunia and her muggle friends - they seemed to have a strange fascination for ice-skating, a sport that had caused Lily more bruises in her lifetime than she could count. So she mostly watched the others from the safe border of the frozen lake. On Christmas Eve, James, Sirius, and Peter had paid her a surprise visit. They had brought her a gigantic teddy bear and a bottle of Lambrusco wine that they had emptied together later that evening. Lily was a bit embarrassed she didn't have any presents for them, so she finally decided to bake a cake for her friends.  
The result of her first ever baking experience had been a chocolate cake with cherries inside, and just a tiny bit burned. The others had said it would taste good, but Lily wasn't too sure whether she should believe them or not. Perhaps the wine had helped.  
And, of course, she had been thinking about the Hufflepuff jewel almost all the time, but hadn't come to a conclusion yet. She hadn't told any of her friends about it, but they had decided to discontinue their quest, as it would be fruitless without the diary, anyway. But Lily would keep the pendant - just in case, she thought. And, whenever Rowena would come back to her dreams, she would definitely ask her why she couldn't have chosen any other person.  
Lily finally remembered to light her cigarette. She blew some smoke into the night air. One more day and she'd be back to Hogwarts. More than two months until the winter holidays would start.  
  
***  
  
_Two days later__  
__  
__Just great. You did have to mess it all up, didn't you? It will be very hard to explain that to the Dark Lord, even though it's not my fault.__  
__You made a mistake, Lily. An important mistake, if I dare say so. Too bad I can't laugh directly into your face, but I will, soon. The ever so clever Lily Evans has made a stupid, important mistake.__  
__I'm sure you could guess what book I'm holding in my hands. Rowena's diary, of course. That book has been guarded by powerful spells - wouldn't you think a book that's almost one thousand years old would look a bit more torn? Wouldn't it fall apart if you touched it? This book was saved from the fire by a fire-repelling charm, it's that simple. I found it in a pile of ash and pieces of glass - I admit it was a bit too dark to see it that night, but, please, Lily, use your brain if you can't use your eyes.__  
__The only problem is that I speak only a few mere words of Latin, and if even Remus had problems with the translation... seems like I'm going to have a lot of fun in the next months. As long as I don't have to sleep..._  
(Told by the traitor)  
  
_ Disclaimer_: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. No copyright infringement intended.  
_ Author's note_: I'm terribly sorry this chapter took so long - holdidays have been over for me since the beginning of August, then school started again with brute force. Then the whole thing had to be beta-read. But the next chapter won't take that long for uploading, I hope, I've already written half of it.  
Thanks to Juliette for beta-reading and thanks to my reviewers for reviewing. And now - the eagerly awaited reviewers list: Juliette, Jinskid3, Reethi, Incitata, Becky Sharp, Sunshine, Dusted Pyxie, and Fallen*Angel. I think Lily would give everyone of you a piece of the cherry cake she baked... and if you don't like it, you can have Lambrusco as well.  
The Divine Comedian   



	5. Cold

**Liliacea - Chapter 4 - Cold**

_March 1st, 1976_

Life could be so beautiful. So relaxing. Lily felt happiness seeping through every pore of her body.   
This was definitely not the fault of the weather on this otherwise perfect Saturday morning: it was raining. Not the normal way, though, this rain had the ambition of entertaining. It would beat heavily on the roof of the castle for a few minutes, only to reduce itself to a fine veil of drizzling the next moment. _What would come next_, Lily thought to herself, _a thunderstorm?_   
Big raindrops, little raindrops, it had gone on for hours like that. But still - Lily was happy.  
This feeling had lasted ever since she had woken up that morning. At breakfast, in the Great Hall, all the Gryffindors had been very excited about this day's Quidditch match against the Ravenclaws. Months ago, in October, they had been defeated terribly in a rather embarrassing match against Hufflepuff and Lily had the feeling that _some certain _people in her house were still slightly mad at her. After all, they had lost by two hundred points.   
Everyone agreed that, this time, they _had to_ beat Ravenclaw. But, contrary to the former match, there was still hope left, at least for those Gryffindors who weren't on the team. After all, they had had to bear the ecstatic speeches (Amely) and the complaints (by the rest of the team) about the never-ending hours of training for months now.  
Lily highly doubted her team would win. The only circumstance they had on their side was of a moral nature. It seemed that the rumours had already passed to the other houses, that the Ravenclaw players seemed rather uneasy. Pale as chalk, they sat on their chairs and were chewing extensively, but absent-mindedly on their slices of toast (each on their own). Apart from that, Gryffindor was famous for always having the best Quidditch players, although that reputation had not been warrantable for several years now. Apparently such a reputation was hard to lose.  
The Hufflepuffs did not seem to care about the match, whereas the Slytherins gave sympathetic looks to both of the competing houses from time to time.  
Lily corrected herself with a poke at herself. She definitely didn't believe her team would win. She knew the Gryffindor players and if by the end of the year they were holding the Quidditch cup, she had sworn to herself she would eat her broomstick. It was only borrowed, anyway.  
And still - she was happy.  
Her team would lose. But without her. Frank had finally recovered and, in addition, not broken a single bone during the last two months. She would watch the tragedy that others would call a Quidditch match from the audience, her head full of malicious thoughts, a cynical smile on her face.  
Half an hour to go. Lily declared herself done with breakfast and swallowed the last piece of toast as she stood up, her chair making a scraping sound on the floor of the Great Hall. Then she looked out for Justine on the Ravenclaw table, while the other students and the teachers were already making their way to the Quidditch pitch. This reminded her of one of the most pointless school rules they ever had to follow. One beautiful day, during their fourth year, Justine had tried to mutiny. She simply sat down with her friends on the Gryffindor table and got admonished by Professor Weasley, their then head of house. The same happened the next morning, and the morning after... After one week, she was given a detention and the promise that Ravenclaw would lose points if this happened again. The next morning, not only the marauders sat with the Ravenclaws, but also members of the other houses had joined the mutiny.  
Then they changed the rule.  
Consequently, after the change, everyone, strangely enough, came back to their own seats again. Revolution for revolution's sake...  
The summer after, Professor Weasley resigned from his post to become a Ministry Auror - one of maybe a handful then. Lily still could not believe how much she had been mistaken about his character. Arnold Weasley, the strict Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, who was convinced that every rule had been made up for some reason, and thus had to be followed per their definition, who hadn't believed in the point of polishing trophies for detention and instead let them write long essays.  
But he had been one of the few who had been aware of the danger brought upon the wizarding community by Voldemort - and furthermore, one of the even fewer who had the courage to stand up against him. Until he had been killed, more than half a year ago.  
Lily couldn't find Justine anywhere. She didn't think that her friend would have gone to the Quidditch pitch without her – besides, Justine was always late for everything. So Lily decided to look for her in the Ravenclaw common room. Justine had given her the password, laughing, when she had told her about the failed expedition. _Not failed_, she thought, but she couldn't mention the Hufflepuff jewel which she had hidden under her clothing.  
"Just in case we're not having a party the moment you decide to break in." She had said.  
When she entered the common room, she found it empty. Inside there were the usual amounts of spare rolls of parchment, celestial chards, interpretation guides for the reading of coffee-grounds, half-done Potions essays and brimful ashtrays, spread harmoniously among the whole room, but no Justine. Only Tom, a beast of a tomcat owned by one of Justine's housemates, lay asleep on an armchair. Just as Lily turned to go, a little boy stormed into the room, his cheeks still red from running, and chased Tom off his forgotten umbrella. The cat hissed and marched to the couch. The boy was about to vanish as quickly as he had come, when his eyes found Lily.  
"What are you doing in here?" He asked curiously.  
"I'm looking for Justine McKinnon. Have you seen her?"   
"I could report you to a teacher." The first year said slyly, grinning. His brown hair tended to fall into his face, Lily noticed, and he had a definite hint of rogue in his eyes - a deserving heir of the marauders?  
"I happen to be Head Girl," She replied, puffing up her chest. Well, ex-Head Girl would have been more exact, but admitting that would have ruined the effect. Anyway, the boy didn't seem like someone who would waste many thoughts on who was being Head Girl at the moment. She did neither - she wrote a mental note to herself to find out who had taken over James' and her posts.  
The boy hesitated for a moment, as if he was considering his options. One could literally watch the process of thinking in his face. Then his eyes lit up like beacons.  
"She's still up in her dorm," he told Lily and vanished, the sound of his footsteps hurrying out the door.  
Lily knocked on Justine's dorm. No answer. She knocked again.  
"Whoever it is who is seeking entrance, if you want to disturb me, do the job properly and come in." Lily heard Justine calling from inside. Lily chuckled and stepped inside. Justine sat on her bed, only in her underwear and a long-sleeved shirt and was pulling on some red and white stockings. Next to her lay several rolls of parchment, covered in her tidy, untidy handwriting. As Lily crept up, trying to get a closer look, Justine quickly shoved them into her school bag, which was already almost bursting with the many books that had been hastily stuffed inside.   
"Just my Herbology essay." Justine said quickly. "The eight periods of life of mandrakes - bored me to death last night. Anyway, what are you doing here?"  
"Do you know how late it is?" Lily demanded.   
"Nope, I think I've lost my watch somewhere... wait, you're most certainly not here to ask me that. It's later than I think it is, isn't it?" Lily told her the time.   
"Actually, I wanted to be punctual this time..." Justine pulled on the rest of her clothes, but didn't bother to comb her hair. Then both of them hurried to the Quidditch pitch - Justine had decided to skip breakfast.  
And Lily was still happy. It was such a good feeling to finally see another person being blamed for their loss.  
Her happiness lasted until they reached the Great Hall.  
"Lily, there you are!" shouted Amely, who had been waiting for her with growing impatience.  
"Quick, change into your Quidditch robes, we've only got five minutes..."  
"One second, please," protested Lily, alarmed, "I'm not going to play!" Her face was the picture of horror.   
"Frank's in the infirmary, he's getting his hand fixed. Didn't James tell you? I sent him to look for you." Amely cried.   
"I think I'll better go," Justine muttered carefully, "I don't want to miss anything..."

After they had accompanied Frank Longbottom to the infirmary (he had broken his wrist by falling of the staircase to the dormitories in the attempt of getting his cloak five minutes before the start of the match), Sirius, Peter, and Remus made their way to the Quidditch pitch. James had already vanished in order to search for Lily. Five minutes to go - Remus doubted he would find her in time. But when they neared the Great Hall, they heard, even from afar, a loud argument. Almost immediately Remus recognized the two voices as Amely's and Lily's. Tip-toed, they sneaked along the opposite wall - under normal circumstances, both girls were sociable, sometimes even good-natured, but one better avoided them when they were mad - especially when they were mad at _each other._  
Just when they had arrived at the door, Lily stormed past them and towards the rest of her team, who were waiting - already changed and impatient - for her at the entrance of the changing rooms. In a safe distance, Amely followed her, a smug smile on her face.  
Peter and Sirius turned another way than Remus - they were heading for the announcement box. They were the famous yet infamous Hogwarts Quidditch commentators; their sarcasm so great that it even bit at their own team. Mostly Peter did the regular announcements, while Sirius, from time to time, condescended to a well-chosen - and biting - comment.  
Remus was only too happy with that. He preferred watching the games from the ground, under the audience - the seats were built on high columns. The advantages were obvious: he wouldn't be soaked down there (it had started to rain again with brute force), he could be on his own for a while (compared to the crowds in the audience, this actually _was_ an advantage), and he could smoke without getting caught by a teacher.  
Besides that, he was afraid of heights.  
Remus sat down on the floor and rummaged the many pockets of his winter cloak for a cigarette and a lighter, as Peter's magically magnified voice echoed throughout the grounds.  
"Here, ladies and gentlemen, we can see the Ravenclaw team filing in: Corday, Patil, Yates, Hill, Li, Edwards and Fuldner..." Even after he had searched all his pockets at least twice, Remus had found a slightly ragged package of cigarettes, a bottle-opener, pieces of parchment and several tissues, but no lighter. A moment later, he remembered having given it to Lily the other day. She still had it in her pocket - but Lily was currently situated twenty metres above the ground.  
In the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed a movement. Remus turned around and saw Justine, who was sitting leant against a column and blew grey rings of smoke into the chilly morning air. She had her cloak wrapped tightly around her body - Remus remembered that Justine was always freezing, no matter how warm or cold it was. Her eyes were fixed on the events above the pitch, though one couldn't see much more than a mass of red and blue from the ground. Anyway, Remus had the impression she didn't pay any attention to the game. He hesitated. Since the incident with the silver dagger in Professor Durak's lesson they hadn't shared a single word. He could only guess whether she was still angry with him or not. (_"I hate people who are not honest!"_ )  
But finally he decided that enough time had passed. The scar on his palm had already fully healed. She was likely to have forgotten the incident by now.  
Besides, Remus needed his cigarette.  
He sneaked up to her from behind.   
"Hi Remus," she said without even looking at him. Remus sank to his knees to catch her glance and gave her the most submissive smile he was capable of.  
"Do you have a lighter?" He asked and held up the ragged, but still not burning cigarette like an accusation. From some pocket of her cloak, Justine brought up a little lighter (in the shape of a snake, as Remus noticed amusedly) and lighted his cigarette. Remus inhaled deeply and sat down next to her.  
"Bet Gryffindor won't win?" He asked, trying to start a normal chat.  
"You haven't seen our team practicing. They're almost as bad as the Gryffindors. Plus they're all high."  
Justine sighed.  
"I asked them whether they thought marijuana would make them fly better. They said no, but they wouldn't mind losing so much. My best guess would be that they'll fly around aimlessly for a few hours until everyone is bored, then someone will have mercy on us and make them stop. Hopefully."  
In the meantime, the Ravenclaws had already scored one goal, but this was due to good luck rather than to accuracy of aim. It had stopped raining.  
Remus looked at Justine. Compared to what was happening twenty metres above them, a rather interesting view. She looked down, apparently bored herself. Her shoulder-length green hair was a mess, whether there had been an effort to make it look like that, Remus couldn't decide. She had dyed it some time ago; one could already see its original dark brown growing back. There were shadows beyond her dark eyes. The way she was moving - or rather, the way she avoided moving -, the way she was holding her cigarette, the voice in which she had been talking to him before - signs of both physical and mental exhaustion Remus knew only too well out of his own experience. And she had lost weight during the last months - Justine had always been slender, but now she was looking incredibly thin, bordering on anorexic. He could only see her right hand and a part of her forearm. Her fingers were long and thin, reminding him of a spider's legs.  
Remus wasn't sure whether or not to mention that. Lily would have done so immediately - Lily, who had always been confident, emotionally secure, who never thought long before speaking. And Lily was closer to Justine than he had ever been, especially after the murder of the Halley family.  
There was an uneasy silence. Even Peter didn't say anything, for there didn't happen anything worthy of being announced. The chasers of both teams fled from the Quaffle in order to not be hit by it, apart from James, who had actually scored two goals. Unfortunately for the Gryffindors, the keeper happened to be the best player by far of the Ravenclaw team – or James would have scored more points. The snitch was nowhere to be seen.  
Half an hour later the rain started again, so one could see even less. Justine still didn't say anything. The general boredom began to increase. Parts of the audience had already vanished, especially those from Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Remus suspected Justine of being asleep, but after a side glance to her he noticed that her eyes were wide open.  
As the game above them still didn't justify the effort of raising one's glance, he decided he could give Justine a last chance of talking.  
"You look tired." He said carefully.  
"Really?" She murmured, sounding absent-minded.   
"If I didn't know exactly that you usually don't do anything at all for school, I'd say you've had too much stress the last weeks."  
"I simply didn't sleep well, that's it."  
"That isn't it," he said matter-of-factly.  
"Since when are you that interested in my health?" She snapped aggression lining her voice. "Sorry," she added when she noticed the surprise in his face, "of course you're allowed to nag me about that at any given moment - it's just the lack of sleep."  
One more time, the chat died. Remus looked upwards (nothing interesting there), then he turned his attention to his fourth cigarette this morning, he watched the dwindling audience and tried to find out when the two teams would play in front of empty rows. Finally he looked on his wristwatch and then on Justine.  
He saw her weeping; one single tear was slowly running down her cheek.  
Lily would have known what to do. She would have found words of comfort (though he couldn't think of the faintest reason for her tears). She would have done the right thing.  
But he wasn't Lily.  
On the other hand...  
She had leant him her lighter. And he knew how to be a gentleman. Plus she was weeping, damn it. Still, he wouldn't have done the same thing with any other person.  
He put his arm around her.  
He felt her body stiffening under his touch for a second, and then she relaxed. She tried without any success to wipe her tears away with her sleeve. Without a comment, he handed her a tissue.  
"What's up?" He asked quietly, sounding concerned, when she was calm again.  
"Honestly, you don't want to know." Justine muttered. The sleeve of her right arm had slipped when she had wiped her eyes. And only now, when he took a closer look at it, Remus could see thin red scars on her forearm. He held her wrist tightly.  
"What's this?" He asked, sharper than he had intended.  
"Tom - you know, Suzie's cat. Terrible beast." She wrenched her hand out of his. Remus didn't believe her. Those scars were too straight. He shook his head eloquently.  
Justine only cast a short glance at him and stood up without a warning.  
"Fine," she hissed, "believe me or not. I have the right to have my own secrets, you know." She vanished a second later.  
And this was the moment Lily caught the Snitch.

At the beginning of the party, the Gryffindor common room had been more crowded than ever before. But now, as the arms of the clocks were nearing midnight, only a few students were still gathered there, the essence of the partying, one could say. They had thrown the remains of the former party onto a high stack, thus forming a dance floor in the middle of the room. There was music. The blood on Lily's temple had already dried. She had had to suffer through a lot of congratulations that day and her answer had been the same all the time, thank you, but no, she hadn't caught the snitch, it had accidentally hit her head - no, it wouldn't hurt anymore, thanks for asking -, and so she had used the opportunity... Lily was fed up.  
Even McGonagall had avoided coming up here again - apparently she thought that the team could do with a little ego-boost, this was the first win after more than a year, after all.  
The same evening, Lily had announced the definite end of her Quidditch career.  
Around twelve, there was a knocking on the door. One of the valiant remaining woke the fat lady to let in the visitor. It was Frank Longbottom, with a bandaged hand and still a bit pale, who stormed into the room. He was welcomed frenetically by the rest of the team.  
"Frank, if you dare breaking one more bloody bone right before a match, you're dead, alright?" Lily shouted when it was her turn to hug him. He gave her the smile only he was capable of, crooked and a bit tired. They danced until dawn. And none of the marauders realized that Remus had gone to bed hours ago.

_Months later_

_I can't do it. I simply can't. To hell with Rowena and her Latin! If only her handwriting would be readable, but apparently this is too much to ask. She's talking about flowers for pages, in December. Her syntax shows a definite lack of logic, and even if I manage to translate something, it doesn't necessarily make sense.  
It is half past six now, one hour until I have to get up. The others in my dormitory are peacefully asleep, while I'm trying to translate that chaos. I have one hour. Sleep seems far away for me, worse than ever before, probably I'll be tired during lessons again. No, not one hour. Not exactly. It's one month. If I haven't managed to find at least one jewel within the next month... frankly, I don't want to know what will happen. My death would only be a matter of time, and its method not a pleasant one.  
I have been in Rowena's chamber several times afterwards. Searched it completely - there was a hidden hole in the wall, right there where one could see the bricks through the tapestry, but it was empty. I've spent several hours there, without success. And I'm afraid, because this means that, even if I should find hints about the hiding places of the jewels in the diary, I can't necessarily trust them._

It couldn't be true. Something like that just couldn't just happen. Even now, two days after, Lily's mind still fought the conviction that it hadn't happened, that it was all a horrible nightmare, the denial, which was slowly ripping her mind up from the inside.  
It was a Saturday in late May. Spring and summer had met for a rendezvous and had melted into this transitional season. The sun was shining as though it was not aware of the day's events, and probably it really wasn't, for what happened on that late afternoon had been cooked up in the deepest abyss of the human soul that no ray of light ever reached. The wind was whispering in the newborn leaves of the trees.  
That wretched Saturday... The Hogwarts students had used the beautiful day for shopping in Hogsmeade. The marauders had come home earlier, though. Why should they have visited Hogsmeade anyway, when two hundred other pupils were doing the same? They didn't know all the secret passages in and around Hogwarts for no reason. Only Justine had visited her family.  
What difference would it have made if they had stayed? None at all? Or the one deciding?  
For when the last student had entered in the heavy entrance doors to the Great Hall that evening, he hadn't exactly been the last student. One girl was still down in Hogsmeade and she wouldn't come back. Never again.  
Now, on Monday... the day began with double Defence against the Dark Arts. _Her_ empty desk looked like an accusation. Lily sat directly behind it and spent the time looking at the walls or the floor. Nobody was talking much.  
They had found her the next morning, Dumbledore and two other teachers. A few metres aside of the main street of Hogsmeade, out of sight from the houses. Above her, the Dark Mark had still hung in the air, menacing, but already fading.  
The village people hadn't heard any screams.  
And Lien van Rozestruik was dead. Sweet Lien, with those strange ideas, the cynical and sometimes absurd sense of humour that absolutely didn't fit with her innocent looks. Her hair had been shoulder-length, of a fair blond and always braided to tiny plaits. Lily thought of her pale blue eyes, closed forever, surrounded by almost colourless eyelashes, of her freckles, of her slender, angular body, that was lying in the cellar of the ministry's branch office, abused and dirty and dead. They had never been special friends, although they had met before their first year of school in Diagon Alley. Both came from Muggle families and both had been extremely lost in the crowds and both had decided to get lost together that day rather than to stay on their own.  
And Lily wished she had known Lien better.  
Dumbledore's speech that day had been short. Never before she had seen the headmaster searching for words, and the whole hall had been shocked like never before. Some had been crying.  
Nobody bothered to have supper that day.  
And Lily noticed she wasn't the only one who had lost somebody. Memories of Thomas got up to the surface of her thoughts. Last summer, she had shoved the thoughts on him into a bag and tied it up and hidden it in a corner of her soul, but now they were back.  
And there was nothing she could do without the diary. Even if she had it, even if she had found all the jewels, she could never perform the song charm with her bad voice. And she wouldn't be able to resist Voldemort if he decided to take the jewels from her - he had his own, convincing methods. Rowena hadn't come back to her dreams, although she would have needed her right now.  
Durak let them work with texts out of their books, and Lily was thankful she didn't have to speak.

From where she was standing, the almost full moon was situated directly behind the crossbar of the window, so it was split up into four smaller lights. It shone from a pale blue morning sky. She had fifteen minutes.  
Her naked feet stood on the tiled floor of the Ravenclaw girls' bathroom. She had showered; her wet hair was combed back tightly, lying against her neck. She leant against the wall. A white towel was wrapped tightly around her thin body. Why did it have to be so goddamn cold in here?  
She knew, if she would be standing here any longer, coldness would creep into her body, making it numb, freezing her every move. She moved and caused the moon to slide away from the middle of the crossbar.  
In a corner of the room, her things were piled. Pyjamas and a little bag. She let the pyjamas, where they were, and put the bag on the little board above the sink. There was also a mirror, clouded by the fog. She didn't bother to wipe it, as she couldn't stand her face anymore.  
She plugged the drain and turned on the tap. Cold clear water streamed out and filled the rusty sink with a slowness that tortured her to no end.  
She rummaged the little bag for her razorblade. She couldn't do this too regularly, for nobody would believe the excuse with the cat scratches otherwise. This was also the reason she mostly cut the old scars.  
Her right forearm was a mess anyway.  
Her hand was shaking a bit. Carefully she traced along one of the red scars with the blade, and watched, a second afterwards, the sticky red liquid spurting out - a scarlet blossom, opening right before her eyes. It was almost magical to watch.   
She thought of Lien, and anger formed in her. Lien, with whom she had shared more than a normal friendship. Until some time ago. Lien had been afraid they would discover their secret, and now...  
Now she was gone.  
The girl shut her eyes. She hadn't tried this before, and didn't know how to do it properly, but it was worth a try. Her right hand, with the blade, moved towards her left wrist and slowly but surely cut down.  
She saw Lien, saw her glance resting upon her. She wouldn't habe approved of that, but wouldn't have done anything against it, either.  
She could almost feel the touch of fine soft hands on her skin, back when it hadn't been scarred like this, more than a year ago. And afterwards, when the blood had already begun searching its own way out of her body.  
She opened her eyes. Blood was streaming over her hand and dripping into the water, dying it red. But the blood was lazy.  
Fuck. She had missed the artery.  
But the pain... it was worse than she had imagined, but still... this could heal the wounds in her soul, at least for a while.  
The red was of the most beautiful shade she had ever seen, and it didn't dry up to that horrible brown as quickly as the other wounds. No more cuts for today, she decided. She could already feel the loss of blood. Everything swam before her eyes, and her knees felt like butter.  
There was a knocking on the door.  
She wanted to move, but her legs betrayed her, and she found herself on the floor.  
"I know you're in there!" a girl called from the outside.  
Fuck. One could see traces of red on the floor now. She forced herself up and washed her arm with the icy cold water from the tap, reached for the bandages in her bag and scantily wrapped them around her wrist. That had to be enough. Then she pulled the plug of the sink. The drainpipe needed unblocking, she realized, and the water would need several minutes to run away. Minutes she didn't have.  
She cleaned the floor and the sink with her towel. Then she quickly pulled on her pyjamas and prayed that both the bandages and the sleeve would hold off the blood until she was safe back in her dormitory. She took a final look at the bathroom; it didn't look like it would give anything away, with the exception of the sink, of course.  
Whoever it was who was waiting in front of the locked door, she had run out of patience by now. She heard someone murmuring "Alohomora". The door shrieked as it was opened. Suzie came in, still half asleep.  
"Good morning," she said. Then she saw the sink and was suddenly full awake.  
"What's that?" she asked sharply, her eyes widening with understanding. Justine shrugged nonchalantly.  
"Just a nosebleed," Justine said quickly and slipped out through the still open door.


	6. Down by the water

A/N: No reviews for chapter six. _What_ were you thinking? Chapter 8 is done, but not translated yet, and it will raise the story rating to R. Expect graphic violence.  
Update March 28th 2002 - Ayla Pascal beta-read this. Thanks again.  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it all. The chapter title is a song by the wonderful PJ Harvey. Go. Listen to her records. They're great.  
The Divine Comedian  
  
Liliacea 7 - Down By The Water  
_  
Strike against "Death Eaters"  
  
Last Sunday, two wizards were killed in the attempt to blow up the "Three Broomsticks", a highly frequented bar in the village of Hogsmeade. According to some statements they belonged to the growing number of You-Know-Who's supporters, the so-called Death Eaters; however, those have yet to be confirmed by the Ministry of Magic.  
A few hours after the attack, a seemingly shocked Madam Rosmerta, who owns the inn, gave an interview to the Daily Prophet. According to her, both wizards had entered the crowded room shortly after midnight. A few minutes later they started a heated argument with one of the customers.  
"So I asked them to leave, when one of them got his wand out of his robes and suddenly, the counter was set on fire." she told us. Two Aurors__ among the customers realized the danger and intervened, thus saving the lives of more than one hundred guests. In the resulting fight, both presumable Death Eaters died.  
Next Friday, the two Auror's - the married couple Emma and Brian McKinnon - will receive the Order of Merlin, second class, given to them by Armando Dippet, Deputy Minister of Magic.  
Josephine Brown, Head of the Department for the prevention of Magical Crimes, took this as an important step forwards.  
"We are going to show those so-called Death Eaters they can't mess with the magical community of Great Britain as they wish," she declared on a quickly fixed press conference yesterday.  
In the meantime, six after days the murder of the seventeen year old Hogwarts student Lien van Rozestruik, the crime is still not solved. Several traces have been proven useless. If you should have any further unknown information, please contact your local Ministry of Magic office.  
More articles on this topic: "Hatred of Muggleborns__ - is it perhaps more common than we think?" comment (p. 4)  
Extract taken from the Daily Prophet as of May 30th, 1976_ (Morgan Vite)  
_  
June 1st, 1976_  
  
The quill seemingly moved over the parchment almost by itself and so joined the choir of the general scribbling. The light in the classroom for History of Magic was dim and not a whisper could be heard.  
It was Lily who held the quill, however, her thoughts were not with the written history examination. She had finished five minutes before, and fifteen minutes lay before her until the end of this particular exam. Well, finished wasn't really the right statement, rather it was that she had rummaged her brains for information of the Dementor revolts of 1492 for more than one hour. She didn't bother to re-read her test paper, though - this was the best she was capable of, she probably wouldn't remember anything important that she hadn't already attempted to write  
Before her, she saw Sirius' back - hadn't he said they would be top students in History of Magic this year? Annoyed, she threw a crumpled piece of parchment against his neck. Sirius had tied his long black hair into a neat bun - it looked absolutely odd, but was part of his confusing-the-teachers-strategy.  
But it was partly the Hufflepuffs' fault, too. They had written this exam the day before. Most certainly, the war of 981 would be subject of the test, they had said, for Professor Binns was known for always writing the same exams.  
Still she absentmindedly lead the quill over the spare piece of parchment - of course she hadn't needed all the pieces of paper - and then looked at what she had been writing.  
"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Lily, happy birthday to me..."  
She was humming the song softly. Sirius gave her an encouraging smile over his shoulder before he reoccupied himself with his essay.  
Well, perhaps she could have started studying earlier. Yesterday evening had probably been drawing the line a little close  
Eighteen years, and nobody cared. It was her birthday, on the second day of the exams.  
What a present. Lien had never been allowed to turn eighteen...   
Damn.  
Three and a half days to go until she would know whether she would have to spend another year at this lovely school.  
Damn, she had been looking forward to her last day of school, one last time turning the school upside down, the graduation ball, and then off to freedom.  
Freedom, with Death Eaters around the corners. Wonderful.   
Two desks to her left was Justine. They had always had History of Magic with the Ravenclaws, why change it for something like the NEWTs? It saved the teachers a lot of time, after all.  
Justine was leant against the wall and chewed on the end of her quill. Only a quarter of her parchment was filled. She used to write quickly and untidily, decorating her parchment with ink dots. But only after a long time she would be inspired with what she wanted to write. Lily was sure Justine would, in less than five minutes, settle herself to hastily and messily fill the rest of her parchment.  
Lily was bored. But she couldn't just stand up, give her test in and leave, for she knew herself well enough to know she'd remember lots of details when arriving at the corridor.  
Justine yawned. Lily noticed she was looking rather tired - even more tired than usual - and her normally dark skin was much paler than it used to be. Afraid of the exams? Possible, for Lily knew with certainty Justine was doing little to nothing for school, barely enough to pass every year's final exams. Their eyes met for a second - then suddenly Justine's face lit up like a beacon and she began to fill her parchment line by line, her hands almost shaking with excitement.  
Next, Lily decided to look at Professor Binns. He sat, bent forward over his desk, on one third of his chair and pretended to watch even the slightest movements the students made. However, Nearly Headless Nick had once told Lily that ghosts' eyes left much to wish for. And Binns always had stubbornly refused having himself constructed special glasses. Lily was sketching Binns onto another spare piece of parchment when she noticed Binns' tie for the first time. He was always wearing the same one - green and with dwarves printed all over it.  
Hmm... dwarves... she thought und remembered that, in former times, dwarves had often been held as semi-intelligent pets. For example, there was the Veela queen Valerie, who had held about fifty dwarves near her palace, in a huge stonewall specially prepared for them as a replacement for their usual mountains. However, they fled, being fed up with the royal solicitude. Valerie must have been furious, and a furious Veela was... unpleasant.  
And then, it hit her like a Firebolt. The Veela's, of course - they had joined the Dementors' revolt, half a year after its begin. Lily could exactly remember the feeling she had had when she had read that paragraph in her textbook, must have been about two years ago, that mix of disbelief and morbid interest in the pact between the horrible Dementors who seemed to have come from hell, and the elf-like Veela's, who had together tried the bloodiest revolt in the history of magic. But it fit together somehow, though, it was said Veela's hadn't had any feelings.  
Hastily she scribbled down her last paragraph, to hell with the logical structure of her essay. Professor Binns would get it somehow.  
In the middle of her last sentence, Binns' gave the order to now write the last words, it had been enough time, and to then give in their works.  
"This case is hopeless, if you ask me," Lily heard suddenly. She looked up, confused, and saw James, who was obviously amused at her failed attempt at drawing. She rose.  
"Admit it, you're only envious", she said with faked seriousness. She crumpled the parchment and aimed for the wastebasket near the door.  
"Give it up, Lily, you've got other talents." Lily threw.  
"And what would those be? Absolutely and utterly failing my NEWTs? Perhaps I'll set up a negative record." She sighed. Of course she had missed the wastebasket.   
"Quidditch, for example. _Accio_ parchment! Though the chaser position wouldn't exactly be recommendable..." They advanced slowly to the door, due to the queue that was always forming after lessons. James aimed and threw the parchment above the heads of everyone straight into the wastebasket.  
"Show-off. You've been closer. But trust me, we would have lost the match against Slytherin even if I had been playing." Justine passed them hurriedly and rushed along the corridor. Lily frowned.  
"We'll meet for lunch. I'm just going to see what's up with Justine." she said and ran off.  
  
***  
  
A rumble of noise filled the Great Hall as students filed in to be fed. From here and there, students sent the teachers either hateful or thankful glances, depending on their tests, as all the students were currently enjoying exams, and everyone ate rather fast, hoping to cast a last glance into their books, to fetch a new ink bottle from their dormitories or to smoke a last cigarette before the end of lunch break. They had pea soup for lunch, which, since everyone's faces were twisted with distaste, wasn't exactly delicious. .  
The marauders were already half done when Lily finally arrived at their table.  
"Any results?" Asked James. Lily shook her head.  
"Nothing," she said, "not in the common room, not in her dormitory, not outside, and not here. How was your day?" She sat down and helped herself with one of the large, steaming bowls. She made a face at the sight of the thick soup creeping slowly onto her plate. _At least she doesn't miss much_ , she thought.  
"Bad," said Peter, "I've only got half a roll of parchment."  
"The same goes for me. I didn't really know anything..." added Sirius.  
"But you gave in one and a half rolls..." he was interrupted by Peter.  
"That's called creative writing, sweetheart." said Sirius.  
Lily carefully tasted a spoonful and promptly burned her mouth. Twenty minutes late for lunch, but it seemed an unwritten law that soup was always too hot.  
"I'd call this a perfectly balanced group result then, right?" said Lily, after she had swallowed the unpalatable soup with a glass of pumpkin juice.  
"Anyway, what have we got next?" Peter got his time-table out of his pocket.  
"Exams in Herbology and Potions, both with the Hufflepuffs. Just great, four hours with those depressed figures..." Lily sighed inside at that cool comment, but then again: she, too, had brought flowers to Lien's grave, she, too, had cried together with those from her dormitory and still felt the pressure behind her eyes when she was reminded of Lien's death. But it was time to get over that.  
The bell rang to remind the students that their next exams would start in ten minutes.  
"All right, off to greenhouse four. We can't do worse than failing." James shouted with faked happiness and rose from his seat.  
And Lily left her soup as it was, practically uneaten  
  
***  
  
Lily held her hands outstretched in front of her and realized they were shaking. Not very surprising, she thought exasperatedly when she started scrubbing the earth off her fingers with cold water and much soap. _What the hell had that been supposed to be?_ She asked herself. It was beyond her imagination teachers would seriously attempt to keep the marauders at school even for only one more year.   
The exams for Herbology and Potions had been put together meaning they had to spend four hours with the same topic - the potion Animagus simplex.  
At least she had heard of that potion before as the marauders had managed the transfiguration into animagi in their fifth year. Animagus simplex was basically the same; they'd only change into animals one single time, for exactly one hour.  
So the task was to find the necessary plants in the greenhouse and treat them correctly - one had to stroke some of them gently before breaking, others were only to be cut with a silver knife (but Remus had brought his long cloak that day, fortunately). The potion required the blossoms of several plants, the pith of others. One also needed the sixth peel of the root of a magical onion, counted from the outside. Then the Potions part began with finding the other ingredients, such as unicorn hair and the scales of spotted salamanders in the big closet down in the cellar. Next they had to brew the potion correctly. During the time of slight heating, exactly seventy-four minutes, they had to write a long text about the potion, the origins of its ingredients, the preparing and general history.  
Down in the cellar, Lily had almost despaired. She knew exactly how to brew the real Animagus potion, but she had no idea what she had to leave out for this reduced version. And the extended variant was known to have very painful consequences if not drunk together with the right incantations. So she guessed again. Later, when Professor Yates marched through the rows of students and carefully inspected their potions, she cast a sideway glance to Sirius' cauldron. The marauders had before their final change experimented with this potion for a short time, though she hadn't been aware of that then, and they probably had gotten it right.  
If she wasn't much mistaken, Sirius' potion looked a little bit more golden than hers.  
"The rest seems to be alright," announced the not very tall Yates after she had sorted out three unlucky students on her way through the class. One of them was Remus. However, he wouldn't fail, only Yates didn't know the effect Animagus simplex had on werewolves.  
"Now - drink, I'm prepared for all kinds of accidents," she added and held up a bottle of "Mrs Skower's antidote for all purposes", then retired for deliberation into her office with Professor Sprout. They probably decided about the two poor fellows' future in there.  
A second later, the classroom turned into a zoo. Beside Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs there were several frogs, a young bear, a parrot and a hippopotamus. A Hufflepuff student even managed to turn herself into a giraffe, and was constantly hitting the ceiling with her head. And somebody changed half into a lion, half into a snake. When he hadn't changed back after more than one hour, he had to be rescued by Professor Yates.  
In the meantime, Lily's hands had turned red from washing, but the dirt wasn't easily removed - especially under her fingernails. The other marauders had managed the change perfectly - no surprise there -, only her change back seemed to be sort of - incomplete.  
Another bright red feather fell from her sleeve into the sink.  
Furiously, she scrubbed her hands even harder. What a birthday.  
  
***  
  
_I've got the jewel.  
I lie on my bed, it's midnight, everyone around me is asleep and my head hurts.  
It is red, the jewel, and it's glowing a bit. Red for Gryffindor. It lies on my palm and burns. Does it really have power? To bad I can't try it - there isn't a single drop of Muggle blood in my veins.  
My hand feels hot. It's the first time in years, or at least so it seems, that there's some warmth in my poor body.  
My face is wet from tears.  
It hasn't been easy. Rowena Ravenclaw has outdone herself with this hiding place. I arrived in the dungeon she had talked about in clues in the text. I checked it twice - this dungeon was the only one I found that had two bulges in the wall, formed like the windows of a church. Those caves weren't the only thing reminding me of a church, there was the same stirring - almost divine - sort of silence as the one I felt in the little chapel in Hogsmeade, during the Sundays of my childhood. As if enchanted I stopped at the entrance. I suddenly knew I wanted to stay there forever, where I was still surrounded by the breath of God, where everything I've done was unreal and far away.  
I stepped inside and found the vault to be completely empty.  
Meaning I was a bit disappointed, until I - out of mere desperation - raised my glance to the ceiling. And I understood.  
The ceiling, about ten metres above the ground, showed all four house emblems of Hogwarts. And it consisted of a huge mosaic.  
A hovering charm and several hours of searching in the air later I had it. It isn't an exaggeration to say it was difficult to find a little jewel like that hovering right under the ceiling when the only light came from the tip of the wand between my teeth. And when I broke the jewel out of the mosaic - it had lead me to it with its faint glowing at last -, I realized that I had desecrated something, that never again there would be such a heavenly silence down in that room.  
The jewel is here, and now I can feel its power, it is burning in my hand. Its effect on me is the complete opposite of what I felt twenty metres below the ground, something I have searched for all my life, as it seems, and what I have found for a few hours. And that's why I'm crying. Only two weeks ago I would have embraced life, for Lord Voldemort's death sentence that has been hovering above me is delayed now, but after all what happened...  
I don't care about death anymore._  
  
***  
  
The marauders kept struggling through the rest of their exams that week in a similar manner. Transfiguration and Divination both took place on Wednesday, Astronomy late that night, Thursday afternoon followed the rest of the optional subjects: Arithmancy, Ancient Runes respectively Muggle studies (in which Lily wrote her supposedly best exam). Defence Against the Dark Arts took place on Friday morning, the afternoon was off.  
Professor Durak let them choose their task fifteen minutes before the actual begin of the exam out of a stack of worksheets.   
"Give a detailed description of the magical forces of Redcaps and substantiate possible strategies of defence! Alternatively please interpret the following historical extract!" Following was a shortened version of Blanche d'Avignon's "Dementors - Friends or Foes?" Lily decided to do the second task.  
Professor hesitated for a second when the apparently last student fetched his worksheet. He had one sheet left.  
"Does anybody know about the whereabouts of Miss McKinnon?" he asked. He didn't get a response. Lily wondered why Justine would sleep in on a day like this; she used to be the first one in the classroom early at the morning. But half a minute before the lesson started, Justine appeared, pale and obviously exhausted, in the doorframe. She wasn't even wearing her school uniform.  
"I'm terribly sorry, Professor, I..." Durak merely gave her a wink to sit down. When Justine received her worksheet and skimmed through the content, she raised an eyebrow as though astonished.  
One hundred and twenty minutes passed. Nobody was talking. Even though Durak lacked any pedagogical skills whatsoever, he, as opposed to Binns, saw rather well. Too well for one of the Ravenclaws, who found himself being released of his exam in the middle of the lesson.  
Lily cast a sideways glance to Justine - and was surprised. The girl was writing hastily, as in a fever, and had already reached her second roll of parchment. If it would be the same with her... Lily would certainly pass this exam, but not with astonishingly good grades.  
Much to soon for most of the two hours were over. Lily was among the last ones to give their tests in and saw Justine hurrying away at top speed once again.  
She wouldn't lose her this time.  
Lily ran after her as quietly as she could. She only dared going along a corridor when Justine had already vanished behind the next corner, until she suddenly stood in a part of the castle that was completely unknown to her. No Justine in sight. But then again, there was only one door on one side of the corridor. She waited a few minutes, until she could hear a voice from the inside.  
_Aahh, grieving, aren't we? Some classmates bullying you around? Though I'm not too sure a bit of blood would solve your problems..._ A piercing laughter was audible. Then there was a murmured spell, followed by a swishing sound.  
Peeves!  
Lily flung the door open and a furious poltergeist flew towards her. He vanished quickly, though - in fact, more quickly than she had ever seen him vanishing, usually he got on people's nerves up to the boiling point and even further - but still she had noticed, that_ something_ was stuck up his left nostril.  
Justine was half sitting, half lying on the tiled floor, still holding the wand in her shaking hand. Blood was dripping off her right arm and onto the floor.  
"Hi Lily," she said tiredly. Lily knelt down beside he. She saw a razorblade, and she saw several cuts on Justine's right forearm. She cursed herself - how could she have been that blind? She had discovered the scars a few months ago, but had believed the story with Suzies' cat Tom. Perhaps it was because she, too, had made the mistake of attempting to stroke him.  
"Please..." whispered Justine, "leave me alone for a while - it isn't anything bad."  
"Why are you doing this to you?" asked Lily, dismayed. She wrapped a handkerchief around the cuts and realized they weren't deep at all - so it wasn't a attempt of suicide.  
"Please, Lily... I promise I won't do it again, but leave me alone."  
"Stay then, while I'm getting Madam Pomfrey." Lily had already arrived at the door.  
"Lily!"  
She turned around. Justine had never been that loud. She saw that the other girl had risen in the meantime. Her arms were completely covered by the wide sleeves of her robe. She held the left arm behind her back. There were no signs of the former events, apart from little dark red stains on the floor.  
"What's up?" she asked.  
_"Obliviate!"_  
  
***  
  
"Alright, we're finally done," sighed Lily and let herself fall onto the grass. It was Friday night. Now that it was June, there was still about one hour left until sunset. The horizon was already changing to red.  
They had searched for a suitable place for privately celebrating their graduation for a long time. The Gryffindor common room had been out of question, of course.  
Justine opened a bottle of red wine.  
"When are the others coming?" she asked. Lily chose lying on her front now. One had a perfect view above the sea from where she lay, it was glittering in warm orange.  
"Within half an hour, they said. They wanted to pay a last visit to the house elves." From an old map she had studied one time during their research Lily knew that, not far away from her, there had once grown a very old weeping willow by the lake. There one had found, almost one thousand years ago, the body of Rowena Ravenclaw... she was shivering slightly.  
Justine drank several swigs of wine directly from the bottle, then lay down next to Lily.  
"Hey, without any kind of formality?" Lily asked mockingly. Justine shrugged.  
"And what are we supposed to celebrate? To receive the worst passing grades ever?"  
"That's probably why they hold the graduation ball before the actual graduation." Lily drank as well. The wine tasted good, a bit sour though. However, she hadn't exactly eaten much that day so she decided to leave the alcohol for later.  
"Perhaps it would be better to stay here for another year..."  
Lily turned around surprised and caught Justine's eyes.  
"Are you afraid?" she asked. Justine avoided her glance.  
"Have you been reading the Daily Prophet lately?"  
"Surely. But that doesn't concern us." Lily tried to convince her. "And that strike against those Death Eaters they were talking of, it's a good start, I'd say."  
Without a comment Justine got an apparently well-read article out of her pocket, cut out of a newspaper.  
"Read it properly." she said. Lily did so.  
"So what?"  
Justine buried her face in her hands.  
"That blasted Vite!" Justine cried, "She absolutely had to name my parents' names in the article! They are secret agents of the ministry, not common Auror's! They didn't even bring up the nerve to tell me for quite a while before!"  
"Damn, Justine..." Lily understood. She wrapped her arms around Justine, trying to comfort her.  
"Indeed," Justine said, "the Death Eaters are after my family."  
They didn't say anything for a long time.  
"That was it, then." said Lily, when both of them were staring once again into the sunset that was now fully blossomed.  
"What?" murmured Justine.  
"You've been acting strange lately. We've all noticed. Especially after... " Lily hesitated for a second. "Especially after Lien was murdered."  
Justine got into a sitting position and stared at her. The statement in her dark brown eyes was unreadable.  
"How much of that do you know?" she asked.  
"Nothing at all. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it." Again there was a long pause. Then Justine began talking in a soft voice.  
And Lily only listened for a long time. Justine had shut her eyes when she was done. Lily, too, sat up. Gently she stroke Justine's hair.  
"Justine..."  
"You don't know what it feels like, Lily." she heard Justine say with a strangely toneless voice.  
"But I do, you know." And Lily bent forwards a bit and kissed the girl. Her hand was holding Justine's neck as she was carefully tasting her lips. Suddenly Justine turned sideward.  
"If that's supposed to be a joke or anything..." she said hoarsely. Lily forced her glance towards her by holding her chin. She merely shook her head.  
And then, Justine kissed Lily. Lily would never had expected one could put such a determination, such a solemnity into one single kiss as Justine did it. She twined one arm around her neck, the other one around her waist as Lily was giving up on any defence that was left.  
  
A short time later the sunset had reached its colourful climax. Lily sat there, glancing at the lake. She held Justine in her arms. A strange feeling of déja-vu filled her. And she knew at once what it was.  
Last summer. A dream. And she had stood on this very position.  
And had stared at a spot in the meadow before her. White, mixed with red... but there weren't any bloody lilies!  
Or were there some?  
  
***  
  
The Great Hall seemed strangely empty now that the younger classes had gone to bed (or so the teachers thought). Only the seventh years were still there. The ball had been festive indeed so far, but not exactly exciting. Instead of being wrapped into the colours of the Slytherins, who had won the House Cup by many points, the walls only showed bare stone. Most of the soon-to-be graduates were dressed in black anyway.  
At midnight Dumbledore had held a short speech.  
"I know that the last weeks haven't been easy for anyone," he had said, "but I'm glad to announce that, after an interim correction, every single student has graduated with at least two NEWT's." And for the first time he managed to produce a slightly more positive atmosphere in the hall.  
"The graduation reports will be given out next Friday," he added.  
Most teachers had already retired to their rooms at that point. Only Dumbledore and Professor Yates were still there and talked excitedly to the students. Especially Yates seemed rather sad to lose her "children" she had been teaching for seven years now. Nobody seemed to feel like dancing although there were psychedelic sounds emerging from an enchanted muggle music box. The number of students had decreased as well. The marauders were standing in one corner, not far away from the drinks.  
"I'm leaving for a second" said Justine suddenly. Shortly casting a glance on Lily, she mouthed the word "alone" She crossed the hall quickly and vanished through the door.  
"No more sadness," said Lily at once, "Remus, do you want to dance?"  
As if the celebrating had been waiting for a sign like that, other pairs formed. The music got faster. At around two o'clock, though, Dumbledore, who had been dancing with Professor Yates, declared the feast to be over. And as everyone settled themselves for going in the light of the torches, Lily discovered that Justine hadn't come back.  
  
***  
  
It felt so good to flee from that depressed atmosphere for once! Around one hundred metres away from the open door, out of sight of the celebrating, Justine let herself fall into the soft grass. It was getting summer, after all. She didn't feel as cold as normally.  
Her white hands seemed to shimmer in the dark when she lighted her cigarette. She inhaled deeply. The stars where shining brightly in the sky.  
She lay down on her back and watched the stars. Three days after her obviously passed astronomy test, and she had already forgotten everything, she thought a bit amused. The stars were stirring a bit, they seemed to vanish at some points just to burn with new light a second later, thus forming the negative image of - what was that? Justine sat up, but was still staring upwards. Now she could also hear a regular sound - the beating of huge black wings...  
Then it swooped down upon her. Claws dug themselves into her shoulders. In a mess of pitch-black wings, flexed muscles, desperate fighting against an almost invisible enemy she fell to the ground. The powerful beak of the animal seemed to want to attack her. Justine lay under it, her body tensed...  
...when, without as much as a warning, it flew away.  
Breathing heavily and shaking, she rolled to the side and checked her body for injuries. The claws had torn holes into her robes, but had left only small cuts on her skin. Her hair was slightly messier than before. Other than that, it had probably been the shock.  
She stared after the black bird of prey until she couldn't see it anymore. She had been expecting something like that for quite a long time, and if she was right...  
She looked to the ground. There it lay - a letter. Hastily she enrolled the parchment and read it in the light of her lighter. Due to the darkness she could barely make out the writing, but Justine knew what it was, knew that it would look an ugly reddish brown at daylight, for she knew the letter was written in blood.  
She had indeed expected something like that. And still, reality differed from her imagination for she had never imagined her own reaction.  
For a tiny, merciful moment her heart and her thoughts didn't seem to want to move on, simply refusing to work properly. Until the information suddenly filled her brain with violence.  
And she ran towards Hogsmeade. Towards home.  
  
***  
  
It took a while until a Ravenclaw reacted on their knocking. A sleepy sixth year murmured the password and opened the door for the marauders. The password had been changed that very day.  
"Is Justine in here?" asked Lily. The thought that something could have happened to Justine...  
"That seventh year freak?" The girl murmured. She wore an old, pink nightgown. At any other time Lily would have made jokes about that.  
"Well, I think I'll just look for her," she added and shut the door with a loud bang. Two minutes later she was back. "Isn't there. Night!"  
Lily felt her despair growing. They couldn't possibly search the whole building for her. Suddenly she remembered something she must have forgotten until now.  
"Peter, get the map!"  
"What...? Ah, that map! We'll meet in the Great Hall." and Peter stormed off.  
A short time later they searched all seven floors on the map. No trace of Justine.  
"Where can she be?" asked Remus. The others shrugged. But Lily thought...  
"Hogsmeade." she said. "We have to get down there!"  
The others looked at her, puzzled.  
"Her parents - they're Auror's. And yesterday they got that order of Merlin - You-Know-Whois after them!"  
The others understood without a further word. Lily folded the map and put it into her pocket.  
"Well then...," said Sirius, "...let's go."  
  
***  
  
After they had run half of the way in a slower tempo, Lily couldn't stand it anymore. She left the group and ran, ran, it wasn't far anymore, the next moment she was in Hogsmeade, she heard the beating of her own heart loudly in her ears and ran on, but she knew it was too late. Had they come one hour earlier, half an hour, ten minutes, perhaps they would have come in time.  
The McKinnon's owned a terrace house in the main street of Hogsmeade. At the very top, in Justine's room, Lily could see a shivering light. Lily tried to open the door. It was locked.  
_"Alohomora!"_ she cried. She had put too much energy into the spell, for the door was violently pushed backwards and thrown against the opposite wall. Blurrily, Lily could see the crumpled shape of a dead child - it was Malcolm, Justine's younger brother, who would have attended Hogwarts the next autumn.  
Now Lily could hear voices above her - several men and a woman she didn't know. They had probably been alarmed by the noise. The light had been put out. Lily raised her glance. In the light of the street-lamp she saw the silhouette of a man dressed in black who was leaning out of the window.  
He smiled a cruel smile.  
"Too late," he whispered. Then he raised his wand.  
"_Morsmordre!"_ She heard his voice - smooth, deep, and apparently used to talking.  
The Dark Mark shot out of the tip of his wand and hovered above the McKinnon's house.  
And Lily heard several people Disapparate with a soft popping noise.  
  



	7. Paradise Lost

Liliacea 6 - Paradise Lost

Justine had never known she could run that fast. She hadn't even bothered producing some light with her wand. It was so dark she couldn't make out the ground below her. Her feet were in heavy, shapeless, loosely laced boots and slightly gave way to the side at every stone under her soles. But she saw the lights of the street-lanterns of Hogsmeade before her, and that was the hope keeping her a-running, the hope that maybe she would come in time. After a while that seemed both too short and too long, she finally reached the entrance note of Hogsmeade. It was only a few hundred metres from her, though uphill. Justine collected her last strength reserves and sprinted upwards.

Her family's house: a nice, clean terraced house with a little garden in the front, though there were only some bushes growing in there, for her parents didn't have much time to do the gardening due to their job. One could see light shining through the yellow curtains of the kitchen window. Justine opened the door with a simple spell and fumbled for the doorknob of the kitchen door in the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" an astonished child voice suddenly whispered. Justine turned around surprised and saw her younger brother Malcolm on the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing his sky blue pajamas with the flying broomsticks printed all over. Justine knelt down beside him and briefly stroked his soft black hair.

"I have to talk to our parents. And anyway, why are you still awake, hm?" The boy hesitated.

"Mum and Dad, they have an argument - again. And I can't sleep."

"Go back to bed, little one," she said softly.

That moment, the door to the kitchen was opened abruptly.

"And I'll tell you one thing, Emma, we can't let Dippet do anything he - Justine!" The girl stood up.

"Hello Father." She turned her head to the side to get her much smaller mother, who was standing behind her father, into her view. "Hi Mum."

"What are you doing here?" her mother asked nervously and twisted a stray of her fair hair between her fingers.

"It's obvious, isn't it?", said Brian McKinnon loudly, "she's probably playing truant, as she's done before."

"Listen to me father," said Justine, "I don't have terribly much time..."

"Go to bed, Malcolm," urged Justine's mother, when she had discovered her son on the upper part of the stairs.

Her husband, however, advanced menacingly towards Justine.

"We're fed up - do you understand? - fed up with receiving letters from school about you all the time!" shouted Justine's father.

"That doesn't bloody matter right now!" Justine almost screamed now. She was beginning to lose her patience.

She didn't see her father's hand coming, so quickly he had hit her on the cheek as hard as possible. Justine moaned and leant against the banisters. She saw her mother's face above her.

"He doesn't mean it that way, honey, he's only overworked..."

"Father...," she murmured, "he is after you. He's coming tonight." Her voice was a bit thick. She felt her cheek burn, she felt the water in her eyes. Don't cry. Not now.

"Who?" asked Emmy McKinnon. Justine tried holding back the tears for a few seconds.

"Lord Voldemort," she said.

At once there was a deadly silence in the corridor.

"What did you say?" asked Brian in a failed attempt to keep his voice calm. Justine bit her tongue, but it was too late.

"Lord Voldemort. You-know-who. Whichever title you prefer." she repeated angrily.

"Go back to Hogwarts," said her mother. She suddenly seemed very tired. "I can't cope with such morbid jokes at the moment."

"Mum, I'm not joking or anything..."

"Go," her father ordered, who finally seemed to have re-gathered his thoughts. Justine looked into the eyes of both her father and her mother and knew at once she couldn't do anything else here. She hesitated for another second, and when nobody was adding something, she left the house and carefully closed the door.

On the top of the stairs there sat Malcolm, the teddy bear in his arms, the face white as a sheet.

_Don't look down, Lily, don't like at that crumpled figure that once has been a child, and don't even think of trying to find out whose body belongs to the pair of feet behind the kitchen door, run up the stairs, Lily, hurry up, damn it, this house has three floors, and Lily, hurry up, she's alive, please, let her be alive..._

When Justine shut the door, she could still hear her parents argue in the inside. She was desperate. Had she misinterpreted the message? Why hadn't they arrived yet?

If only her parents had believed her, damn it.

Much slower now she walked along the dimly lit main street. In the meantime most of the stars lay hidden beneath the clouds. What else could she do? Her only chance was Dumbledore, and if he, too, didn't believe her... and anyway, she wouldn't have the time to get to Hogwarts and back.

Justine sat down on the sideway. The local office of the Ministry of Magic? But Justine knew her parents' colleagues, they would react the same was as Brian and Emma McKinnon.

And now, she was really cold.

And her head began to hurt.

___Which door was it again, for heaven's sake? This one, second from the left, the smallest room. Alohomora! Through the door, I don't see anything, but I can smell something, it's blood, oh my God..._

Her thoughts wandered somewhere, anywhere. Any other place would have been better than here, on the cold stone floor, near her house, but she couldn't leave her family on their own...

"It's as late as this and you're still not at home?" she suddenly heard a deadly calm voice above her. Justine raised her head.

"My Lord..." she gasped, when she recognized the tall, slender figure in front of her.

"It should be like that, shouldn't it?" came his cool answer, when he forced her upwards with a movement of his hand.

"And still..." those red eyes stared directly into her own, " I have the feeling that the events of the last week have shattered your loyalty towards me."

"My Lord...," she started, but fell into silence once again.

"Anything to your defense?" he added icily.

"My Lord... that girl's death - it wouldn't have been necessary." she finally managed to say. Justine she had signed her death sentence by saying that, but still.

The Dark Lord seemed to share her opinion.

"A Mudblood," he said disdainfully, " but to stay on topic: why should I let you live? Do you have at least one of the jewels?"

"No," said Justine without hesitation.

"Well them, my soft-hearted servant..." and Voldemort's pale lips twisted into a slight smile, "why don't you show me your home?"

_____Where is the god-damn torch, it's here, what was the spell to light it again, alas, I don't want to see it anyway, Lumos! My God, the smell, and the walls..._

Justine hadn't had any choice left, having the tip of Lord Voldemort's wand pressed between her shoulder blades and her own inside his pocket. She pulled the magical front-door bell.

Nothing happened. She pulled it again.

Had they gone?

Please, oh Lord, let them have escaped!

One second later the door was opened. Brian McKinnon stood in the frame, whether still furious or furious again at the sight of her, she could not tell.

"Justine! I told you to vanish from here!" he shouted at her, only a second afterwards noticing the dark figure behind her. The Dark Lord got past him and into the house, pulling Justine with him. Brian made a step towards her, hesitated then when the door to the kitchen opened and his wife came out.

"What are you doing here? And who are you?" she asked the Dark Lord. But he only locked the door with a complicated hex, needing only a slight wave with his wand, then he disarmed Justine's parents.

"I," he finally said, "am the one whose name you are to scared to say." He waited for the effect of his words. Pleased, he saw fear on the faces of both, whereas Justine didn't show any emotions.

"I think you've guessed the answer. I am Lord Voldemort."

Brian seemed the recover from the shock first.

"And in what way are you connected to him?" he asked his daughter.

Voldemort smiled.

"This way." And then he grabbed Justine's left arm. The girl was as cold as never before. He rolled up the sleeve of her simple black cloak and then removed the bandage wrapped loosely around her forearm.

And just above a relatively fresh scar across her wrist one could see the Dark Mark.

Justine looked at her parents. The were seemingly shocked. Uncomfortably tight she was pressed against Voldemort's icily cold body. So they knew now.

Emma fainted.

Voldemort was tracing his fingertips over the black tattoo, and as he did so, it changed its colour to red and finally begun to glow and to pulsate. A hot, sharp pain burst through Justine's forearm just to her fingers.

And several Death Eaters apparated in the corridor, four men and a woman.

Casually, as if bored, Voldemort murdered Emma and Brian McKinnon with the killing curse.

Then he glanced onto his faithful servants, and his voice was calm now.

"I leave that piece of filth to you. I'm sure you'll find a way to entertain yourselves with her for a while," he said and threw Justine into their direction.

_______Now that the room has been lit I wish it was dark again. There's blood everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, everywhere. Some of it hasn't even dried yet, but where is Justine?_

_______T_hey had taken her to her room. Her own chamber had always been oddly plain, the walls were white, there was a bed in the middle of the room and there were a desk and a chair. However this had been her personal refuge.

It didn't seem half as solid with five Death Eaters around.

She lay on the white sheets of her bed. Her hands were tied to the bedstead above her. A leg-lockers curse did the rest. Justine didn't have any chance.

She was naked save her underwear, mainly because the only woman beside her had refused to look at a starved body such as hers. This woman was everything Justine wasn't, tall and with a figure that could have inspired some baroque painter. Her hair was long, curled and of a dark brown, the same colour as her eyes. which were staring heavy-lidded down on the traitor.

Felicia Lestrange was also the speaker of the little group. With long, slender fingers she traced along the chaos of scars on Justine's right forearm. Justine closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that hand was Lien's. She actually managed it for a second, until one of the long, perfectly manicured fingernails dug into her flesh. She moaned. Lost in thoughts, Felicia spoke her words, softly but audible for everyone.

"As you so love cutting your skin..." she said and took a closer look at the scars.

"...it seems justified to ask..." with one fingernail she ripped the scab off one particularly fresh scar, "...how you would react, if someone else cuts your skin. This ought to be interesting, wouldn't it?" she asked, raising her voice a bit. The others agreed with her excitedly. Blood streamed out of the opened wound on Justine's arm and caused the first out of many red stains on the white sheet.

Felicia walked a full circle along the walls of the room and murmured a spell. Justine knew what she was doing. It was a silencing charm that would not allow any sound to leave this room.

One of the Death Eaters was now searching her desk and triumphantly returned with a pair of scissors. Felicia herself got a dagger from the belt of her long black dress. Her husband, Jerome Lestrange, had a similar knife. The other two Death Eaters, too, improvised something sharp.

Felicia came closer to Justine and smiled evilly.

Minutes had passed by that seemed like hours. And that feeling of loneliness grew stronger. It was dark in his room, only the light of the street lanterns outside produced dark, menacing shadows.

He held his eyes tightly closed, but as he did so, he heard his sister's voice again. "He's after you... he's coming tonight..." Who was that Lord Voldemort that even his parents were scared of? Even Daddy, who was tall and strong, had been scared!

And this man would come tonight...

As far as Malcolm knew, Justine had never lied to him.

Didn't he hear steps somewhere? Wasn't there anyone cowering in the shadows nest to the wardrobe?

And what was under his bed?

At once, Malcolm thought to hear steps outside on the corridor, as well as a door being closed carefully. This ought to be his parents, he tried to convince himself. Certainly Justine had already arrived at Hogwarts.

But why didn't his parents just believe her?

But he was ten years old! Almost grown up! And he wouldn't let himself found in the bed by some bogeyman. Malcolm wanted to get away from here as far as possible. His preferred aim would be Hogwarts, to that nice Mr Dumbledore.

The alternative would be his parents' bedroom.

With shaking hands he reached for the play wand on his bedside table. It wasn't a real wand - it was only able to produce some light. There. A little improvement. His little feet padded on the floor towards the door, wand in his hand, when he turned around one more time.

Charlie! He had almost forgotten him! His teddy bear in his other arm, he sneaked tip-toed into the corridor. He saw light protruding from under the door of Justine's room. So she must have come back, he thought. Malcolm stumbled downstairs. He only saw little. The light from the play wand grew fainter and vanished after a while, so one couldn't forget to put it out. The tip glowed only weakly, but he didn't dare whispering "Lumos" again.

It was a long way down. Surprisingly Malcolm found out it was alight in the lowest corridor. His parents never forgot to put out the lights. He walked a bit slower. One step after the other. The naked stone was cold against the soles of his feet. He held Charlie even tighter, but it didn't help. Finally he had to arrive there.

What he saw made him scream, scream from terror and despair, and he ran to his dead mother and found her body cold and his father's was the same, only his eyes were still open and he seemed to look at his son.

They were working slowly and they were working properly, as though they were enjoying it, and they probably did. Only one cut at a time. Justine had quit screaming as her voice had gotten hoarse in the process. She only whimpered at times. They had begun with her forearms, then continued with her hands. Justine had lost two fingernails. Her feet, her hands, her chest, her throat, her belly, her thighs and even her face were covered with flat, but numerous cuts. The sheets underneath her were almost fully red now, with the exception of a few white spots. And again she saw Felicia's beautiful face above her, again she saw the richly trimmed dagger coming closer, closer, too close, to leave a sign in another part of her skin.

She had lost a lot of blood, but not enough to finally let her die. Why, just why hadn't she then had the courage to fully slit her arteries when she had had the chance?

At once she noticed there hadn't been any cuts for a whole minute or so. She opened her eyes. Felicia, Jerome and the others listened intensely to the outside, but seemed to be agreeing that they had misheard something.

Suddenly someone untied her. Justine winced at the touch. The leg-locker curse, too, was undone. It didn't make such a big difference, though, as Justine felt unable to move anyway. She felt hitting the floor hard when they threw her off the bed. She couldn't breathe for a few seconds, lying on the floor-boards. And then she heard it.

She heard her brother screaming.

Felicia gave her husband an eloquent glance.

"I'll take care of that," he said and vanished.

_________And then there was light, and everything was clearly visible, and Lily went around the bed with the blood-red sheets, and Lily saw Justine. And Lily screamed for the first time._

_________And Lily bent down to Justine and at first glance couldn't make out anything, for her thin figure lying in front of her was covered in blood. And Lily saw Justine's green hair, bloody as well, most of it being ripped out and scattered in a circle of maybe half a metre. And Lily saw Justine's right hand - what for heaven's sake had they done to her hand? Lily didn't dare further looking at it and concentrated on the other hand, the left one, to search for a pulse, though she knew chances were against her. And Lily found Justine's heart still beating and was surprised, and Lily found something different on Justine's forearm, on Justine's left forearm, something she would never have expected to be there, and Lily screamed loud enough to wake Justine from her unconsciousness, and Lily screamed until the others arrived there._

It was the scream that woke me, Lily's scream. I don't want to hear my lover scream, not for one single second. Lover? Yesterday, by the water, she as been my lover, and now - I have lost her as well.

To recapitulate the whole thing one more time: an ear-splitting scream woke my from my warm, velveteen blackness, and immediately, before I could see anything else, I saw Lily with my inner eye, and heard her. The next thing I noticed was my vision coming back. I could smell my own blood. A few seconds later my body began to hurt again, but they stayed in the background instead of violently becoming the focus of my very existence, like before. My memory came back last, my thoughts are relatively clear now. And now, that I got both back, I wish it wasn't like that. I'm filled with burning shame on my betrayal. I got my punishment, but is this really enough to make up for what I've done?

Maybe. At one point, it could have been an hour, it could also have been less or more, those people with their scissors and knives began to feel bored. So they decided to rip out my hair instead. That wasn't that bad, compared to what came next.

How dare those people deride the name of Jesus by trying to do to me, a dirty traitor, what had been done to him? At one point, the idea came to Jerome - I have never understood the way of his thoughts anyway - that they could crucify me. The not-so-successful result of this suggestion is that a long nail has been driven through my right hand - the one now missing two fingernails - and through the floor-board underneath. This event, taking almost fifteen minutes, has showed my new dimensions of pain, as if I hadn'thad enough of that this night. The fingers of my right hand are writhed into claws, I can't move them and I don't have any feeling in them.

Before they could do the same to my left hand they had been interrupted by Lily. Only God knows what they didn't simply kill her, there has to be a reason. And Lily is kneeling next to me and is searching for a pulse, it's a miracle there's still blood in my veins, my heart ought to be working idly.

The softness of Lily's hands...

And she is still screaming, and now the others are arriving, Remus, Peter, Sirius, and James. And I feel ashamed, lying helpless on the floor, with ragged underwear, and my poor thin body is that ravaged, and the Dark Mark on my forearm.

I would have never wanted Remus to see me like that. Not Remus and not Lily.

And their voices are buzzing around, they are too loud, please think of my ears! And what I understand is, that Sirius and James and Peter and Lily will return to Hogwarts to alarm some teachers, and Remus will stay with me to take care I won't flee.

I wish I could laugh about the absurdity of the situation.

Hogwarts was well-guarded against being broken into. One could neither apparate nor disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds, and also every use of magic around Hogwarts was being watched. The advantage of this was that nobody could sneak easily onto the grounds if they weren't either students or teachers of Hogwarts. The disadvantage, however, was, that even if one was in a hurry one could only get to Hogsmeade and back on one's own feet.

Dumbledore and Professor Yates had both still been awake when they had been alarmed by the marauders. Those two had then woken a few others, namely Professor Durak, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. Silent, but hastily students and teachers headed down the hill. Only when they arrived at the Hogsmeade sign Dumbledore addressed to Peter. He pointed at the local office of the ministry of magic.

"Go and alarm the aurors, Mister Pettigrew." Peter nodded and vanished.

"Where do the McKinnons live?" he then asked Lily. His casual voice seemed to calm her down a bit.

"Main street", she said, "number... eight or nine or something like that. Doesn't matter, see the Dark Mark?"

They arrived the McKinnons' house half an hour after Lily had discovered Justine.

Remus sat on the little garden wall, he was awaiting them.

"To late, headmaster," he said in a quiet voice, "Justine is dead."

The teachers still settled themselves to entering the house, but Remus winked them back.

"There's one more thing", he said hastily, "the Death Eaters - they've come back. And they've taken her body with them."

Lily broke into tears once more. Professor Yates, too, held a handkerchief in her hands. Meanwhile Peter had come back with two Ministry officials.

"No aurors there," he announced, "they're all occupied in Wales." But when he noticed Lily, he was immediately silent and instead put an arm around her. Lily thankfully appreciated that.

"As far as I'd prefer honesty in every other case, Minerva," said Professor Dumbledore to the deputy headmistress, "in this particular case we can't afford such thing."

"But why?" asked Professor McGonagall. She was a good deal younger and still had the passionate idealism so typical for the youth.

Dumbledore sighed.

"What do you think will happen if we admit that Voldemort's spy has been collecting information in Hogwarts for more than a year? There wouldn't be any students left next year!"

"And what if these people notice we're hiding things? Nothing can destroy a school's reputation more completely than disguised scandals. You still know what happened after Dippet's successor had been sacked?"

"I know, Minerva, I know. But we don't have any proof since McKinnon's body has vanished. And without such proof the Ministry would practice obstructionism, for those people are specialized in disguising scandals!"

At once there was a knocking at the door.

"This sounds reasonable, headmaster." McGonagall bit her lower lip thoughtfully, but couldn't offer a useful alternative either. So she went, thankful for the interruption, to the door and opened it.

It was Remus Lupin who stood in the frame.

"Go to sleep, Mr Lupin," said McGongall gently. "It's already late." But Remus merely shook his head.

"Headmaster, I actually wanted to ask you whether I may leave school early," he addressed the headmaster directly. He looked pale, but composed.

"Well, the graduation reports haven't been written yet..." the headmaster said contemplatively.

"It's only a week...," urged Remus. But his hope was already waning.

"Well then," there finally came the longed answer, "we will send the report to you. Though I'd need your new address for that." Dumbledore knew that Remus had recently moved out his parents' house.

"No, send it to my family. I plan on living there for some weeks at last," he said with a weak smile and left. McGonagall shut the door behind him.

"But still..." she said in the attempt of restarting the interrupted talk, "why can't I help but thinking it's us who stand on the wrong side of the law?"

The next day was the first really hot summer day that year. The sun shone through the windows of the dormitory very early. It was maybe five in the morning, and everyone was still asleep.

Only Lily hadn't rested at all that night. She had been packing her trunk silently. She was still wearing yesterday's clothes.

Once more she examined the pendant around her neck. Justine had probably told her Lord of the jewels, and that had probably caused her dead, as well as her family's. But still Lily's mind refused believing in Justine's second identity as a spy.

But if she had told him everything...

Then Lily and the others weren't safe anymore.

She held her mother's alarm clock in her had, wondering whether she should take it with her. She finally decided against it. It could as well go on somebody else's nerves in the future, as far as she was concerned.

She couldn't take so much with her anyway, she suddenly realized. The trunk was far too big. She almost couldn't carry it by herself. And a simple charm that would have made it less heavy would have also alarmed every teacher around.

With a sigh she packed the most necessary items into a smaller bag. Perhaps her parents would fetch the rest some day.

Tip-toed she sneaked out of the castle. She wanted to get away from here, before the first rumours began to fly around. She stopped at the lake on the very place where once the old weeping willow had been. She took the wand out of her pocket.

For a minute she stared at the little waves the wind caused on the dark water.

With an abrupt movement she threw the wand far, far away, until it touched the surface in the middle of the lake. There it swam without sinking. Only for a second, however, then a long tentacle broke through the surface and pulled it underwater.

Eight and a half inches. Cherry wood with a phoenix feather.

Adieu.

And Lily turned her back to Hogwarts and the whole magical community, and she was never going to come back. Or so she thought.

And everything was the fault of the jewels. Without their existence, nobody would have died, but they seemed to draw the power of death towards them as if they were little black holes. First it had been the power of Slytherins' dying, and now, after one thousand years, they became hungry. Give it and take it, give it and take it...

And perhaps one should have asked why Lily hadn't also thrown Helga Hufflepuff's jewel into the lake. The truth was - she wasn't able to do it.

___________Two months later_

It was in London, and it was midnight. At this time of the night the inn "Paradise Lost" was usually highly frequented, especially at weekends like this. Perhaps another reason was that it didn't try to be "up to date" as other bars did. No, the Paradise Lost had plain, low tables. The chairs were really comfortable and didn't only look like that. Anyway it was furnished rather plushy - red curtains, deep hanging lamps, candlesticks on each table. In the background, music was playing - quiet jazz, the Beatles from time to time. Even the whores who chose to hang out around here looked nice and cultivated, most of them were college students (mostly female, though there were two male students who visited the inn more or less regularly) who one could very well imagine in an auditorium. It was midnight, and the bustle only started. Mainly couples visited the bar, only a minority came alone.

He was one of them. He had been sitting in a corner at the window for hours, with the view on a crowded, brightly lit street. Lily was watching him. He was looking at the table before him. What she could make out of him were long, dark brown dread locks over a plain black tight linen shirt. He was very thin.

Absent-mindedly Lily wiped again wit a cloth over the bar after some guest had spilled his wine. He had apologized wordily to the new waitress who has been unknown to him. Lily had realized at once he was more than only a bit drunk, but hadn't entered the aggressive stadium yet. Until now he only showed exaggerated politeness.

Lily loved that inn. At afternoons there sometimes were literature readings by promising talented young novelists - they were poor, promising talented young novelists always seemed to be poor. At nights this was the bar for getting drunk with style. The other waitresses were friendly, the owner was fair and he intended to keep the place clean. From the corner of her eye she saw two shady figures exchanging money and a little wrapped package. Lily wondered whether to kick them out. That was something her boss had often told her: whores were allowed here, as long as they weren't seedy, but this bar was his life, it wasn't supposed to be a drug market.

"Hey, new one," shouted her colleague Anita who had just been collecting the orders. "Bring that couple at table four two espressos and a Cuba Libre for the young man in the corner!"And she pointed at the man Lily had been watching before. Lily looked at Anita for a second - a small, plump person with a singing voice that could split glass. then she looked at the bottles under the bar. What was it that belonged into a Cuba Libre? Rum, of course, and some juice? Lily couldn't remember. Those years at Hogwarts had really drawn her away from the muggle world. She looked at the little, well-hidden sheet of paper under the coffee machine. Cola and lemon juice, alright.

A short time later she reached table four with a tray in her hands. there sat a couple who were obviously so happy with each other Lily got almost sick. They both wore expensive clothes and looked as though they had decided for a little stop between Paris and New York to have supper. They were kissing extensively.

With a loud bang Lily put the cups onto the table.

"Hope you enjoyed your... baguettes..." she said in a raised voice, hoping to interrupt the two. The man only raised his glance once and then concentrated on his partner. Blond, tall, slim, rich, a knee-length skirt and an ankle-length beige mantle. He: a dark gray shirt without a tie, black jeans. Those two didn't fit in here. Lily chose to continue standing on their table.

"Thank you, that's it," the woman said suddenly, "You may go now." Lily raised her eyebrows at the woman's smeared aubergine lipstick.

"Just thought you could find that useful," she said and threw a flyer onto the table.

The couple left the Paradise Lost a few minutes later.

Lily now headed for the man in the corner. She came from behind. shortly before she arrived at his table, he suddenly raised his head and stared directly into her eyes.

Thomas, this was Thomas... she knew those eyes, she had been lost in them so often... but Thomas was dead...

She let go of the tray.

The glass splitted on the tiled floor with a high clink. The amber liquid was spilled into every direction. It was probably the noise that brought Lily back to reality. Angrily she got a cloth from the bar and began to wipe up the mess while apologizing.

"Wait, I can help you," he said suddenly. And now Lily was convinced that couldn't be Thomas, for this man's voice was completely different, tenor, but husky and without any dialect. Without further words he collected the pieces of glass.

"You don't have to do that," she said.

"But I want to," he said with a wry smile. When they both had their heads under the table, he asked: " Why was it such a shock seeing me?"

"Nothing, really. I just thought you were somebody else."

"Somebody you love."

She froze.

"I know that kind of stares. Am I right?" he asked. Lilytook a deep breath and recovered a bit. She turned back to wiping the floor.

"Somebody I loved," she said softly. The young man, whoever it was, seemed to understand. They didn't talk anymore, not even when Lily brought him a new Cuba Libre.

But she continued examining him from the corner of her eyes. It was two o'clock, three, and still he was staring out of the window. Finally she came with the bill.

"Anything else?" she asked when putting the cocktail glass onto her tray.

"I'd love to know what on earth you threw on that couple's table." he said without raising his glance.

"Just some flyer with an advert for a really awful hotel chain. Double room costs ten pounds per person. It's our favourite way of getting rid of annoying couples." She grinned.

"Alright. Do you already have any plans for tonight?"

Oh, how creative.

"Yes, four hours of mixing cocktails and cooking coffee." she answered. Would he be fooled by that?

"Right, then... I think I'll just wait for you, if you don't mind," he said a bit uncomfortably.

"It's okay. And it's only one and a half hours until my colleague arrives." And she actually did her full job, though she was looking at him from time to time. He seemed to be perfectly capable of disguising his impatience.

Half past four they left the Paradise lost hand in hand.

A single apartment. Small and furnished with furniture that didn't match each other. A naked bulb hung in the eight of one's head. The flat was situated in the highest storey and had a view above a street fully of similar blocks of flats. The floor consisted of floor-boards, and on one wall hung a poster of a theatre play performed a long time ago. Other than that: a table, a chair, a small kitchen corner, a tiny bathroom. A bed.

The morning sun was already shining through the window, enlightening a situation both chaotic and unmistakable. Clothes had been thrown on the floor, there were two used wine glasses and two bottles, one of them empty, the other half full. The faint smell of cheap perfume was in the air. Two people lay in the bed, naked and not asleep. Her red hair streamed over the bed and almoost to the floor. She had her eyes closed and tried to relax a bit. She didn't really manage it, though. It was hot. She wasn't used to the feeling of skin to skin, and it confused her. How on earth had she ended up here?

So she stood up. The man next to her stirred, neither asleep, nor awake, and reached for her, murmuring somethin inaudible. She laughed and got out of his grip. She reached for the half-filled wine bottle and drank.

"What's up?" asked the man. He sat up.

"Nothing. I only feel terribly like getting as drunk as possible."

He raised an eyebrow. Raised it into almost abnormal heights. Lily looked at him and burst out laughing.

"No, there's no need of being touchy. This is not about you at all." She drank again, then walked over to the window to open it. He made an inviting gesture.

"Give it to me," he said, "there's nothing worse than to lie in bed next to a drunk woman if you're sober yourself." He was everything but sober, Lily thought, but that was probably what made him that - attractive.

She turned around, and he saw her naked body almost illuminated by the warm light of the low morning sun. Those effects on her long red hair were breathtaking. And this face... green eyes, to far apart from each other. Freckles, and a wide, very mobile, cherry red mouth. he rubbed his eyes. Had an angel found him that night? Or was he merely drunk?

She advanced towards him. Sat down next to him. Gave him the bottle. Watched him drinking. Took the bottle away from him once more. Sat down in his lap. Kissed him. And her hands got entangled in his long hair. She almost cried when he held her in his arms tightly. And her hands were o his body once more - he was barely taller than her, and had the same slenderness Justine had had. He looks like Thomas and feels like Justine, she thought. And somehow that thought was comforting,.

And she wished there wouldn't be any words, no more, for words weren't enough to describe something like that. Words were never enough.

And so they were talking without words for a while.

_"Sweetheart?"_

_"Hm?"_

_"May I ask you something?"_

_"Hm..."_

_"What's your name?"_

_She hesitated for a second._

_"Justine," she said._


	8. The One I Loved

A/N: To avoid confusion (as if there wasn't already enough of that...) - the plot_ is_ logical - er - from a certain point of view, but I doubt the logic is too obvious. This chapter begins with the events following the murder of the McKinnon family. Then there comes a part that happens two months later, and the rest takes place after a year. By the way, that's why the dates are there... the next chapter will probably be even worse :)

"My sweet prince" is a song and belongs to Placebo.

Everything else belongs to JK Rowling.  


There's a very known book in Germany called "Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo" by Christiane F. If it has ever been translated into English, it would probably be "The children of Bahnhof Zoo" or something the like. Bahnhof Zoo is a Berlin underground station that was known for drug trade.

Reviews are welcome.

On to the reviewers "list": Incitata. Thank you.

Beta-read by Ayla Pascal.  


The Divine Comedian

Josephine Brown sighed. Until some time ago, she had liked her job as head of the Department for magical crimes. She never had had much work to do, the weekends were long, the pay sufficient, the colleagues nice... but now, everything had changed.

Carefully she inked her long lashes dark brown. A tinge of rouge - she mustn't look too dolled up at this particular event. Cool and perfect, that's what she wanted her reflection in the mirror to look like. She left the bathroom, looked for her handbag and, strangely enough, found it in an instant. She looked into the mirror one more time. Black really wasn't becoming to her complexion, she realized self-critically. It made her look too pale. Her type needed pastel colours - icy blue, pink or even apricot, those were the colours in her wardrobe. In the office she used to wear a forest green uniform - certainly not that bad a colour, either. But she didn't exactly have much of a choice in this situation, did she? One _had_ to wear black at a funeral. She examined herself for about one minute. Was her lipstick too red? Indeed it was, she decided and carefully wiped it off with a tissue while trying not to destroy the whole powder foundation.

Finally more or less satisfied with her looks she left her flat. It was directly next to the Ministry of Magic, in the centre of London. It was raining - not much surprise there. Several ministry employees who had obviously slept in hasted through the moisture towards the different entrances of the building. Josephine recognized at least one of them as employed at her own office and cursed the people who had fixed the funeral on this very morning of all times, otherwise she could have reprimanded him. Well, that would have to wait then. Josephine was hoping with all her being that the weather in Scotland would be better, otherwise her perfectly styled hair would turn into a crow's nest in less than a minute. She breathed the fresh air - it was surprisingly cold for June, she thought right before she Disapparated.

The funeral service had obviously just finished when she arrived. Somebody had demanded a Christian funeral for the murdered family, and as he was the closest relative alive - some cousin of Brian McKinnon, as far as she could remember -, everything happened as he wished.

She took a relived breath. The weather wasn't half as bad as she had expected. Only now and then it would drizzle a bit, although the sky was covered with heavy clouds and looked like it would start to rain any moment. There weren't exactly many people on the Hogsmeade graveyard. The McKinnons' circle of acquaintances apparently hadn't been too big. Josephine had worked with them at several occasions. Even if one shouldn't say such things about the dead - somehow the number of people didn't surprise her.

Four new graves had been dug into the wet soil. One could even see them from as far away as she was standing. Out of politeness Josephine had Apparated outside of the graveyard. Now she was walking along the narrow path. Her feet sunk into the mud every now and then. She sighed again. Her new stilettos - manufactured by a rather famous London Muggle designer - were obviously not made for such a... rustic countryside. Most likely they wouldn't survive this particular appointment.

Finally she had reached the others. It wasn't time yet, people were still arriving from the nearby chapel and joining them. The priest was concentrated on several typed sheets and seemed to prepare himself for his speech. Justine watched him briefly from the corner of her eye. Her good spirits were lost by now. This looked like a very long speech. She glanced at her watch and realized she had been fifteen minutes too early. Why hadn't she noticed that back at home? She was freezing. The other funeral guests were looking down rather awkwardly. They resembled scarecrows, decided Josephine. Provincial, without even the slightest hint of style.

She looked at the four coffins in the open graves and shivered slightly. A clear image of the family formed in her mind. Brian McKinnon - a tall, impolite man, but incredibly talented. The only reason he had died as a simple auror was his inclination for a slightly exaggerated use of violence for which once he had almost lost his job. Josephine had somehow never got near him, although she usually made friends very fast. Emma, his wife. She was obviously one of those who had completely missed their vocation. She hadn't been completely untalented, but she had to fight hard. Small, wearing glasses and sporting unruly blond hair, she reminded Josephine of a confused chicken. Little Malcolm - well, when she saw him for the first time he had already been dead. And Justine, their daughter. Josephine hardly dared thinking of her, as immediately a picture came to her mind - a room full of blood, but the body was missing...

She had met Justine two times in the last two years. Every time it had been the Christmas party of her office, where Justine had been forced to go by her parents. Skinny small girl who didn't talk much and looked odd, with that green hair and the ragged colourful clothes. Did the people here know that her body had never been found? That her coffin was empty? Probably not, none of them seemed to have a Ministry job high enough for that particular knowledge. Probably peasants, all of them.

Impatiently she moved her toes and swore to herself she would never again buy her shoes at that particular designer's - they weren't even waterproof. Her toes felt cold and clammy in her nylon stockings.

Now three people were advancing on the little group. Josephine's eyes narrowed as she tried to recognize them. Once again she painfully remembered that she actually needed glasses. But she identified one of them from afar.

Albus Dumbledore.

She didn't know his companions. Both were young men, one of them small and a bit chubby, but with a lovable face that had kept the red cheeks of childhood. The other one was completely different: rather tall and lanky, with long, messy black hair and round glasses. Somehow he reminded Josephine of that muggle singer - what was he called again? John Lennon?

Dumbledore greeted her with a nod. He was going to say something else, but that very moment the priest started to talk, causing the headmaster to be silent.

Now the priest was talking about the great people who had died - your usual funeral talk. Josephine wondered wether those people said the same at any given funeral, just changing the names. She preferred not listening. Instead she was dreaming of the spare afternoon that day - she would have a hot bath, a glass of red wine and a good manicure. At the evening her fiancée would arrive and then...

Oops. She had to take care her face wouldn't look too moonily. Or would this make her look particularly thoughtful? Now she tried an emotionless expression, though she didn't quite manage it. When - after a rather long while - the priest ended his talk, she suddenly remembered not having brought flowers. Hopefully nobody noticed that. So she only threw some of the wet soil on each coffin. Then the funeral service was officially ended. She was just going over to Dumbledore when somebody touched her arm.

Josephine turned around and saw the face of an elderly woman. She was of medium height, medium weight and had medium brown hair - probably dyed - and thus looked pretty average. With a white laced handkerchief she was constantly dabbing at her eyes.

"Please excuse the interruption," said the woman. Josephine almost had to bow to understand her.

"What is it?" she said in a hopefully respectful voice.

"Please tell me - I don't know you - in what way were you related to those poor people?" She really said 'those poor people', Josephine was shocked. She silently sighed. That woman wasn't feeling like polite conversation, was she?

"I've worked with Brian and Emma at several occasions," she said shortly. The woman stretched out her hand.

"Amanda Lupin, that's my name," she said quickly.

"Josephine Brown, pleased to meet you." She tried to keep the necessary skin contact as short as possible without looking impolite.

Fortunately she was rescued by Dumbledore.

"Good morning, Miss Brown," he said, "Amanda, if you could leave us alone for a minute..." he added politely.

"Just one question, headmaster..." she said hastily.

"What is up?" Mrs Lupin came a bit closer.

"It's my son - Remus. Do you know where he is at the moment?" she whispered loudly. Dumbledore frowned.

"He told me he would stay with you for a while, that's what I have been thinking."

"I couldn't even reach him at his new flat."

"Perhaps those two know - you probably know James and Peter, don't you?" But Dumbledore's two companions looked puzzled at well.

"Well, headmaster, thank you anyway." sniffled Amanda and made her way to the churchyard exit. The other four were now standing a bit away from the rest.

"How far has your research gone until now?" Josephine asked softly enough. Dumbledore looked around.

"Well, I wouldn't discuss that at a place like this. There have been lots of spies everywhere lately."

Josephine shrugged inside. That was why she had to come here? What a waste of time.

"And when are you going to tell me?" she asked impatiently.

"This afternoon. Some of us will meet at Hogwarts. It's the only place where there certainly aren't any of Lord Voldemort's spies." Dumbledore's companions - whose names she had forgotten by now - seemed a bit uneasy, and even the headmaster himself didn't look too comfortable with his own words. But what was the reason?

"There aren't any pupils at Hogwarts at the moment. Please make effort to not being noticed by anyone. I expect you at the entrance at four." he said and vanished.

Gone was Josephine's hope for a relaxed afternoon and a romantic evening - damn. She had to owl her fiancée about that...

Now she moved as well - as dignified as possible in her ruined shoes - towards the exit. She only wanted to get away from that god-forsaken place, even if it was only for a few hours.

***

A few hours later she was standing in front of a locked door. Why not? She could have easily predicted that, she thought angrily, as that day hadn't been that successful so far anyway. Besides, all her life she had been too early for anything. At least the sky was now blue again and even the sun was shining. It got warmer. And she had had the time to change her clothes. Now she was wearing a bright green robe that made, at least so she thought, her sapphire blue eyes glow with a different light.

Finally the door opened and somebody made an inviting gesture. It was the lanky young man from the funeral. Silently he accompanied her through the Great Hall towards the dungeons. The corridors down there were only dimly lit and about five degrees colder than upstairs. Josephine shivered slightly.

Everything reminded her of her own time at school. The clothes had to be black then, not only the cloaks, but everything, no matter how much especially the girls protested. Then - it hadn't been such a long time, had it? Fifteen years had passed since her graduation, during which she had had a remarkable career at the Ministry of Magic. And she still wanted more - her goal in life was to become the first female Minister of Magic.

Meanwhile she didn't recognize the dungeons anymore. On the other hand, the much bigger part of Hogwarts was situated underground. It was nearly impossible for a single person to know every single vault down there. 

Finally they arrived.

Justine had to stifle her laughter. This looked like a secret gathering, and that probably described it best. In several armchairs and sofas there sat a mixture of wizards and witches of all ages, six altogether. She and her silent companion raised the number to eight. Dumbledore was among them and rose from his seat when he noticed the two. 

"You probably know at least some of us..." he began and pointed at the little group. "Mundungus Fletcher, James Potter, Alastor Moody, Peter Pettigrew, Polly Yates. Lady, Gentlemen - Josephine Brown, head of the department for magical crimes."

"Josephine..." he continued when none of the others raised their voice, "to make one thing clear: we don't want the whole ministry to know about us by tomorrow. That's not why we brought you here." Josephine only nodded, as that seemed rather clear.

"The actual reason is - we need a contact at the ministry, as we don't want to interfere with the Aurors' work all the time. Do you want the job? Otherwise please leave immediately."

"I'm staying."

"Well, this meeting is about the disappearing of Justine McKinnon. Polly - our professor for Potions - has propounded some theorie,s which she will introduce to us for the first time tonight. But please, take a seat", he said when he noticed she was still standing. Now a small, wiry woman in the corner of the dimly lit room raised her voice. Josephine couldn't tell her age in the flickering candlelight; still thirty or already fifty?

"Well, we know from a reliable source that McKinnon was already dead when she vanished - we have a witness. That's why I searched the library. I wanted to find possible reasons for You-Know-Who to occupy himself with a dead body..." she took something out of her pocket - several rolls of parchment with scribbled notes. Josephine realized she was facing a longish speech for the second time that day.

"First I concentrated on potions that - well - contain human body parts. All of them highly illegal, of course." Josephine was trying hard not to make a face at that. How could this woman talk that indifferently about such things?

"The first thing I found was a potion with the poetic name _Eau de la passion_ - but I found it hard to imagine why You-Know-Who should bother with a love potion, and a useless one at that. Could you imagine that?" Some people snickered.

Professor Yates kept telling tales of different potions - had she learned the books from the restricted section of the library by heart? Josephine fought down a yawn and passionately awaited the end of this lecture. Maybe she was still able to get to her date in time after all.

In the meantime the woman was talking about different charms that involved a body. Josephine was getting sleepy.

"That's it," said Dumbledore suddenly. " That's the current state of our investigation. I think we will mainly focus on the weather charm and the Antimagus potion, though we can't leave out all the other possibilities, of course. How far are the Aurors?"

Startled Josephine rummaged her memory. "Not that far," she said, "anyway, we've concentrated on other aspects."

"Very good. That way, we won't interfere with each other. Mr Potter, would you be so nice as to bring Josephine to the exit?"

"Thanks, but I think I can find it on my own." said Josephine. She had a good sense of direction, and anyway, she was determined not to waste any more time with those freaks.

Fortunately the Aurors were slightly more professional.

When she was out of earshot, the curtain to the next room suddenly moved and two people came out. One of them was a rather old woman of medium height called Arabella Figg. She had a cat in her arms and was stroking it with a tender expression on her face. Her companion was a young man called Severus Snape.

"It was high time that lady vanished," giggled Arabella and patted Dumbledore's shoulders. "I admit it was amusing - but why have you enacted that little comedy?"

"'Comedy?!" Dumbledore looked at her innocently. "This was merely about the co-operation between us and the ministry."

"Those Aurors ought to mistake us for an irrelevant group of intellectual individualists." intervened Alastor Moody. "The ministry shouldn't think we're able to interfere with their picked troops. In addition, it is literally infiltrated with spies. Constant vigilance!"

"But I think we did a good job - even if it literally hurt to tell that girl such a nonsense," said Professor Yates.

"So that's why you told me to hide," the old woman suddenly said. "A wanted criminal among the resistance would have been too much for her, right?"

"Anyway, have you been in contact to Mr Black lately? Why wasn't he at the funeral?" Dumbledore changed the subject. James merely shrugged.

"He is a bit touchy about things like that - can't stand funerals even if he knows the coffin is empty. In addition, it probably hit him hard to find out Justine was a Death Eater." _That's probably why he finally decided to be a journalist instead of an Auror_, thought James. But somehow he didn't succeed at being mad with his friend.

But the reaction on his word was nothing he would have expected. Professor Yates' jaw dropped several centimetres. Arabella Figg had to dab herself with eau-de-Cologne, and the rest seemed shocked as well, except for Moody who didn't move a muscle.

Dumbledore was looking at him angrily.

"Well then," he sighed, "we can as well solve the riddle - Justine has spied for Lord Voldemort."

The rest was silence.

***

It was late when Severus Snape finally got home that day. Home - that didn't quite sound right to him. He lived in a small appartment in Hogsmeade. His landlady was called Mrs Fellystone, a bitter widow of perhaps sixty years. At least she was telling everybody she was a widow, but whenever Severus was talking to her, some corner of his brain - the same one that was also responsible for nasty remarks and such things - was making up quixotic theories on the whereabouts of Mr Fellystone. Was there one? Had there ever been one? No tombstone on the Hogsmeade cemetery had his name engraved - he had checked that out on a free afternoon, two weeks after his moving in.

On the other side, he hadn't had much of a choice in flats. His parents were absolutely apolitical and had refused to discuss anything. That probably made it easier for them, thought Severus contemptuously, that way they could have others to fight for them and to be responsible for any defeats.

With an almost inaudible clicking the key turned in the keyhole and the door opened. The house was old - some ancestor of the today's Fellystones (of which there weren't many) had probably been a muggle-lover. The whole house was full of that stuff - candlesticks, a pre-war telephone, a wall-clock. There were even light-switches on the walls, although there wasn't a single house in Hogsmeade that had electric light. The light in the Fellystone household came, as in every normal house, from decent torches.

Severus put his briefcase on the table. His task at the meeting had been to listen to Josephine carefully and to take notes on what was being said. Anyway, Josephine hadn't talked much - obviously she had been glad to leave. He opened the briefcase and took out a piece of parchment that was half covered in his elegant handwriting. Useless, he could as well burn this in the fireplace - then he remembered there wasn't a single fireplace in that wretched house. So he threw the parchment into the wastepaper basket.

He was hungry. That left him three choices: he could cook something. He could have dinner at the Three Broomsticks around the corner. Or, if all else should fail, he could stay hungry.

None of these variants sounded appealing to him. So he switched on the radio. There were merely two magical stations he would even consider to listen to. One, _The Wizard Wave_, had only news and pop music, the other one, _MWE_ (Music and Witchcraft in England), that had a rather elitist programme, only presented music from the beginnings of witchcraft to the Middle Ages as well as distinguished elder gentlemen's witty literary essays. There was another radio station, - _The London Commune_ -, several witches and wizards who were obviously living in another time were broadcasting sounds from their flat - songs written and sung under the influence of mind-expanding herbs, news on where the grass was cheapest, discussions on pollution control and emancipation, to which they invited guests from all parts of the world - what could end up in hour-long audible confusion as nobody had remembered to invite a translator for the Taiwanese expert. The hand and foot signals were fortunately or unfortunately not transferable. At night there were sounds that only a person with absolutely no imagination could misinterpret. One time Severus had listened to that station - for exactly ten seconds. The fight for justice couldn't use something like that.

To sum it up, the other two stations were boring him. The hunger did the rest.

In moments like that one starts to philosophize about the sense of life without necessarily coming to a conclusion. At least in Severus' case it was like that. He lay on the couch - second-hand and relatively cheap, only ten galleons. The case was something between gold and yellow and covered with flowers. One of the former owners had probably had a cat - or rather a tiger-, for the fabric was worn through at some points and there were cat scratches on the side. Severus felt an elastic spring in his back and swore that, even if he had to stay hungry forever, even if he hadn't had enough money for food or rent, even if his clothes reduced themselves to nothing but rags, he would buy himself a decent bed some day.

No, stop, not the clothes. He could turn into an emaciated, sleepless being, but with style, thank you very much.

Severus tried to relax without much success and closed his eyes. He was still hungry. And there were enough other problems that had to be thought about, why not now? First there was his money problem. It wasn't urgent yet, he still had enough from his parents - who had probably been glad when he moved out and didn't have an idea how to show it best. But it wouldn't last long - rent and food were unfortunately necessary, clothes anyway, and he had to "employers" who didn't even think of paying him. The other former Slytherins mainly came from the moneyed aristocracy, such as Lucius Malfoy, who had left Hogwarts five years ago and had never had to work since then. It was the same with James Potter - how had he actually managed to work together with that man? -, though he at least wasn't talking about that all the time. Peter Pettigrew - well, he was still living with his parents and didn't know such problems, the rest of Dumbledore's little resistance group was older and had lucrative jobs.

A little time passed before Severus noticed why he was shivering: it was chilly in his room. Obviously the old lady didn't call the experts to put one of the rather difficult heating charms on the house over the summer, even if it was a summer as cold and rainy as this year's. Severus tried to get up. _Exactly how old are you?_ he asked himself in despair when his body reacted reluctantly and with pain. He had finally decided to eat something. After a short glance into his purse, which lay on the small table, it was clear to him that a dinner in a restaurant, even if it were the relatively cheap _Three Broomsticks_, would be out of question. Probably he couldn't even afford a meal in one of those snack bars the muggles were so fond of, and anyway, he would rather wear ragged robes - or colourful ones - for a month than to enter one of those.

So he made the effort to look into the small pantry at the wall. He opened the door and all of a sudden it came to him that the whole world hated him.

Besides several accusingly empty packages there were few things one could call edible: half a package of toast, two raw potatoes and an almost full bottle of Worcester Sauce.

When the hell had he bought Worcester Sauce, of all things?

At the very bottom of the cupboard he also found a bottle of vodka. A friend had given it to him at the graduation feast, and Severus had never touched the alcohol - awful muggle stuff that it was. He dripped a few drops of the soup seasoning onto a slice of toast - why did he buy that, anyway, as he didn't even own a toaster? - and decided that it was high time to open the bottle.

He searched his joke of a room for a rather long time (_ten wretched square metres_ , he thought angrily, but enough space for little things to get lost completely and seemingly a convincing reason for Mrs Fellystone to demand too much rent). After a while he finally found what he was looking for: a little glass vessel, bigger than a thimble but smaller than a normal drinking glass. It had once belonged to his advanced potions equipment. That would have been a wonderful subject, he thought bitterly, if it hadn't been for those amateurs in the classes.

He opened the bottle and filled the glass to the half. Suspiciously he looked at the clear liquid. He hadn't had any experience with alcohol so far, except for butterbeer, and this stuff was known to contain much more alcohol. So he started with the familiar analysis from his potions classes. Aggregate state - liquid. Colour - colourless. Smell - acrid. Is it inflammable? - He left out that point of the list, as he, being the good alchemist he was, knew alcohol could burn. Taste - he tightened his muscles, raised his head, put the glass to his lips and took a sip while trying to leave it in his mouth as long as possible.

Taste - indescribable.

If one had listened to him, one could have possibly heard Severus cursing the whole known muggle world and especially the Russians, but who was there to listen to him anyway? After he had drunk some nice cold water, he emptied the glass in one sip and filled it again. The second glass, too, was empty very fast. The third one took a bit longer.

Severus made a step for the table - fortunately everything was close to each other, he thought with a hint of irony as he grabbed for the chair in order to keep him standing. then he let himself fall on the couch. He cast a glance to the piece of toast smeared with brown that lay on the table.

Well, he felt terrible right now, but at least he was now psychically able to consume that depressing slice of toast.

A few hours later Severus awakened. In the meantime the torches on the walls had been put out - Mrs Fellystone had probably put a time switch charm on them. Just typically for that stingy old hag, he thought disparaging. The next moment he had to give up this oddly satisfying thought when a sharp pain shot through his head._ What have I done wrong this time?_ he desperately murmured into the approximate direction where he supposed the Lord to be - upwards, as far as he could tell. Then he saw the vodka bottle on the table, the glass next to it. Muggles were insane, he decided, they produced something that didn't really taste nice, they drank it and couldn't walk properly afterwards, went to sleep and woke up with a headache. What on earth was the point of that?

Suddenly, Severus felt his stomach rolling. Fortunately the bathroom wasn't far away either.

Severus re-entered the room, cast an ill-humoured glance to the bottle, took a last sip - no good idea - and then had its content leave the house the same way that his dinner had done before.

Though this stuff had one advantage - just the thought of food made him sick. So it didn't bother him anymore that there wasn't anything left.

Tomorrow - today - he would have to go to Diagon Alley for Gringotts in order to have enough cash for the old hag (Mrs Fellystone) at the evening. Why that woman had repeatedly refused to have the rent remitted he had no idea. Fortunately he had business in London anyway.

His left forearm was itching. Lucius Malfoy had told him patronizingly it would be always like that during the first few weeks, but it had been more than a month now. As he couldn't sleep now anyway, he stood up resignedly and lighted a torch. Above the tiny sink there was a small mirror with a few blind spots. Severus was startled - he looked terrible! Tomorrow - today - he would wash his hair, he swore to himself, before he would leave for London. He let the cold water stream into sink - and was glad he didn't have to pay for that. He touched his face with his cold hands, than he let the water stream on his wrists. His forearm was still itching. If it would at least hurt, then he could feel a bit like someone who was suffering heroically for a good cause, but a hero who was constantly scratching his arm looked probably ridiculous. He let the stream wander to the tattoo - even after a whole month the skull and the serpent still looked strange on his pale skin, and Severus wasn't too sure whether he liked the image or not. The fact there wasn't anybody in the offing who would see it didn't really cheer him up.There was only one single woman among the Death Eaters - Felicia Lestrange, and she of all women was married. In addition, she and Severus weren't exactly fond of each other. Of course there had once been Justine McKinnon, but in the few months during which they had both belonged to the Death Eaters she had always been called the "Hogwarts spy". They had never told him who that spy had really been. Well, he hadn't exactly known her - they had had only one class together, Advanced Defence against the Dark Arts, during which she had always been sleeping, although she had seemed rather sleepless otherwise.

To sum it all up - at the moment there wasn't any woman in question for him. And the men among the Death Eaters - to express it politely, he would have to be much more desperate to develop a desire for Crabbe or Avery.

In the meantime, his left forearm had become pleasingly numb. He hoped that feeling would last until he was sleeping. After a last glance into the mirror he decided to postpone such depressing thoughts to tomorrow - today. He dried his hands, took a last examining look at his hair, a second - rather resigned - one at the uncomfortable couch, put out the light - it looked much better in the dark - and went to bed.

***

_London, August '76_

Strange. That picture didn't move at all. Had there been something wrong at the shooting? Lily held the photo against the sun and even shook it slightly, as if she wanted to encourage the young woman on it to stir. But still nothing happened. Anyway the picture looked... wrong. Wrong colours, wrong clothes. And it didn't move.

Lily focused on the young woman's face to not even miss the slightest wince. But the woman - the girl? - didn't stir at all.

One couldn't really call her pretty, decided Lily. But the place on the picture - an underground station - seemend oddly familiar to her. After a while she knew where it was. Sirius had once been forced by his parents to spend the summer in West Berlin and had decided to discover the town by himself at the very first day. He, the soon-to-be journalist, had wanted to do a bit of a milieu-portrayal, he had explained later. And somehow he had stumbled upon the famous-infamous Bahnhof Zoo. That must have made some impression on the then fifteen year old Sirius. As he had told later, his taking photos had made the underground population rather nervous so he had to run for his life at the end. But his film was full afterwards.

The woman on this particular photo looked - how should one say it politely? - she looked as though she belonged to this place and the place to her. With other words, either a whore or an addict. Or both. Her shoulder-length hair was dark brown and extremely messy. The skin was pale and waxy-looking, the body thin. She was dressed in black. Her face wore an expression of indifference, as if made of stone, she neither looked into the camera nor away. As Lily examined her carefully, she noticed that the girl didn't seem much older than sixteen. But the picture was at least a few years old.

Although her head hurt badly, the same question thrust itself forward once again - why didn't the girl move? And her subconscious - probably the only part of her brain that was still able to think - gave the possibly right answer. Because it's a muggle photo, idiot.

Lily took a deep breath. It had probably been a tiny bit too much wine the other night. Decidedly too much wine. She could hardly think straight.

And where was - what was he called again, her charming pastime? He had never told her, as far as she could remember. How impudent. Well, on the other hand, it hadn't exactly been an intellectual achievement to tell him Justine's name, of all things. She blamed that on the alcohol level in her blood.

For heaven's sake, did that man own a clock somewhere in this room? Only a few months ago she would have been able to say the time with the aid of the sun and the date, but this time seemed far away now. She was far too tired for such things at that. The only thing she knew was that it was probably some hours into the afternoon. With her typical luck her shift in the _ Paradise Lost _would probably begin in a few minutes, only she didn't know...

She put the photo back to where it had been before - a stack on the desk. It was refreshingly untidy in here, somehow it reminded her of home...

_Will you stop thinking of your past?_ she asked herself sternly and had to sigh at the same time - even her inner voice sounded decidedly too melodramatic. But it was right, after all she had gone to London to leave that mess of a life behind.

She continued her little expedition in the tiny flat. Hopefully he would return soon, her sweet prince - last night she _had_ called him that at some point. For some reason her brain had the ability to remember such burlesque things while completely forgetting the important stuff. But maybe _he_ had forgotten, he hadn't exactly been sober either. Anyway, there wasn't much flat left to discover and if he didn't arrive soon...

She took a second look at the photos. Some had phone numbers and names on their back. Were these her nameless seducer's long-lost loves? There was a Jill and a Joanne, as well as a Brian. The girl of Bahnhof Zoo was called Therese.

The next thing she examined was the kitchen. Compared to the rest, it looked relatively clean in here, although everything seemed old and well used. The fridge had probably seen many years pass, and as she was already here - why didn't she look into it? A short glance inside confirmed all her prejudices against men - there was only rudimental food inside, vegetarian at that. Yoghurt, some spread made from tofu and pepperoni, spaghetti - why had he stored them in the fridge? To make it look less empty? There were several bottles of alcohol in every concentration as well. At least there wasn't a single bottle of beer - beer was the drink Lily loved to hate. But there was wine, cider and a bottle of a green liquid, but without a label. Lily knew it - it was absinthe, she had had to make it in a Potions assignment two years ago. It hadn't really been hard, but where did the muggles know it?

Lily was hungry. Well, that had to wait a while. Perhaps he would even bring something? If not, then...

She looked out of the window. Once again the sun had hidden beneath dark clouds. It looked like rain. The whole summer or 1976 had been like that. Now, at the end of August, she had actually hoped for a bit of sunshine. But why should the weather be just, if life was so terribly unfair otherwise?

_Will you stop philosophising about the weather?_

Was she schizophrenic? Sometimes Lily asked herself that question secretly. Somebody who spoke with herself that often as Lily did couldn't be completely normal.

Then the rain started pouring down. To hell with sunshine, it was rather pleasing to watch the rain from the inside, in a warm room where she could walk around with a t-shirt and bare feet without freezing.

She had been bored ever since she had woken up that day, alone. In addition, she was pretty sure she would miss her shift at the _Paradise Lost_ . On the other hand, she couldn't really leave this flat unlocked.

Then she realized how trusting he was. He would probably have found the flat a bit less complete the next day if he had invited another speaking acquaintance.

Whether she would still be here when he arrived - she began to doubt. She was losing her patience. Lily opened the window and stared out of it. She saw cars. She saw puddles. She saw lights.

She felt two arms wrapped around her waist.

She turned around. There he was, last night's sweet prince. He seemed thoroughly soaked by the rain, which didn't stop him from holding her tight and kiss her.

"Shove off, you're wet!" was the only thing she could say. He only grinned and wiped the water off his forehead that was running down from his hair. She asked herself how on earth he could dry those dreadlocks, it had to take hours. On the other hand, her knowledge on the physical properties of such hairstyles was rather limited. Despite of her - admittedly weak - protest he kissed her again, then he vanished into the corridor to get rid of his shoes. How he had managed to sneak on her with those heavy boots she couldn't tell.

"How late is it?" she called without turning around. She was still looking down on the street. The answer came promptly and she forgot it the next second. She only knew that she had several hours left until she had to come to the _Paradise Lost_.

"I've brought something for you," his voice came back to her. That didn't sound bad, she deemed. She headed towards him. Both met in the middle of the room. She wrapped her arms around him.

"And that would be?" asked Lily. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and took out a small, transparent plastic bag. Lily smiled. The resemblance of her unknown congenial love to Thomas didn't only come from the looks. And she hadn't smoked something decent for ages, not even cigarettes. It was worth doing without a dinner.

They sat down on the bed. He gave her the papers, the grass and the tobacco.

"Do you want to...? he asked a bit shyly as she noticed amusedly. "Mine always look rather deformed..." Professionally she rolled a joint, which they were sharing later. The first smoky clouds rose towards the ceiling when she finally dared to ask him the question that had become more and more important since her waking up.

So she asked him between two drags: "What's your name, actually?"

He smiled, his face wearing a rather absent-minded expression. So she had to ask him again.

"Don't you like 'my sweet prince' anymore?" came the counter-question. Lily felt her face blushing. He actually _had _remembered. Damn it. She asked her question for the third time.

"Well, if you really have to know - my name is Thomas."

It's a coincidence, Lily. Everything's just a coincidence.

_I know. Do you really think that makes it easier?_

No, but it seems as though I had to remind you of that. Thomas Halley, your Thomas Halley is dead. Dead and buried.

_Thank you ever so much. I didn't exactly need that image in my head._

Maybe you do, though. It is part of your life, you know?

_Stop messing around with psychology. You know just as little of that as I do._

Really? And what makes you think so?

_You and I are the same person, honey._

Then you remember it as exactly as I do, do you?

_Stop it!_

You see the image in your head, as well as I do. You see the Dark Mark. You see his family, but you don't have any interest in them. You only see his body.

_I said stop it!_

Do you remember? You found him. They examined you as well. They wanted to know how much you had seen. You hadn't seen anything. Then they let you go after some time. Do you still remember? Justine was at yours that night, yes, Justine was there and you two wanted to visit Thomas late at night, for she couldn't sleep and woke you up at midnight.

_Yes, Justine was there._

Indeed she was, yes.

_Justine was there?_

She was.

_Justine had had the idea with the midnight walk._

That's right, it was her idea.

_Why that night, of all times?_

Justine had always known more than she admitted.

_What did she know?_

She knew everything. And, admit it, somewhere deep in your heart, you've known as well. You've known ever since you discovered the Dark Mark on her forearm.

_I didn't know anything. I don't know anything._

But you do.

_No._

You and I are the same person, honey - your own words. You do know.

_But I don't want to know._

Do you remember her? Can you see her ravaged body? Do you remember discovering the scars on her arms? Can you still see the blood in her room, the blood of the loved one?

_I don't want to see it._

It's true, Lily.

_But I can forget again, if you let me. I know I can forget._

_***_

"Justine?"

The voice came from the light. The light was somewhere outside. She knew it was there, but she couldn't see it.

Everything was normal, everything was different. Like a photo of a familiar place taken thirty years ago.

Bloody hell.

Since when did she react that sensitive to a bit of tetrahydrocannabinol?

"Justine?" The same voice again. This time closer. Lily didn't open her eyes. It wouldn't make a difference anyway. She stretched her hand out and felt for something, but what her finger s touched there - she couldn't tell. It was the air that had turned into something soft and thick and which stopped her fingers from recognizing anything. It was the air with its veils that led an oddly familiar voice to her, but there were strange echos, the sound waves were trying hard to gain ground and were failing at times. She could her her blood streaming in her ears, she could her her nervous system work, and she could her her heart beating.

What had happened?

"Justine!" Something violently cut off one of the veils and touched her face. It was cold and warm.

How strange.

Who was that Justine? She knew that name, she had spoken it so many times. It was flying around in her brain until it got torn apart by a sharp edge.

She could feel it tearing apart.

Who was Justine?

Again she felt the hand on her skin, or rather what the hand was holding. A wet cloth. That was probably why it was cold. And for another time, a fourth time, that name.

And this time he could banish the veils. And the sun was shining. And she could open her eyes.

She saw him. Saw a concerned expression in his face. And she saw his body having three-dimensional shadows whenever he moved, as if the light had slowed down. She had to laugh for she suddenly thought about what he could do with that many hands.

And she remembered who that Justine was.

She was Justine.

***

_July 22nd, 1977, a quarter to midnight_

_I can't write about all the days. It would take too long. I don't think I'll die tomorrow, but if I do... No time to write it all down._

_In addition, I couldn't just pick one day and say this was the day when everything began. The simple reason is that even I can't find my way through the mess that is my recent past._

_But there was that day, at the end of August or at the beginning of September of last year that could be a turning-point - it would fit slightly better than the others for it is the last day in my "normal" muggle life that I can clearly remember. Whatever came after that - I don't know. Only the scars on my arms remind me of how it ended. That what came between..._

_I don't know anymore. I know the look of a syringe much too well, I could use it in the dark. The problem is that he tried to use it in the dark. He is in hospital now._

_I heard voices some hours ago. They were laughing. They were laughing about me - poor human wreck on the train station at night. Lies there with the head on her sweater. Should put it on, really, then we wouldn't have to see her spindly arms anymore. What is she doing that for, lying on the ground, could go to work or to school. Hasn't the girl got parents?_

_No, not anymore, I wanted to answer._

_Then I woke up. It's still much too early for the train. But I mustn't sleep again. No time for such things._

_Strange, isn't it? Those people never got an answer. Just because I woke up._

_I don't know what else I've used. But I know I lost my job and then... I was in need of money._

_Four hours until the train arrives. How much can I write until then?_

_I can see images. Almost a year during which I've lived for nothing, lived off nothing. I can see myself from the outside. I've worked in a different bar, I've danced. At some point I couldn't even dance anymore._

_No big surprise. I see my hand holding the pencil. If I'm not careful it will break. I see my hand, and the fingers are barely more than the bones underneath. They are trembling. If I'm not careful, can they break, too, similar to the lead? And, if that happened, should I try to sharpen them with a knife as well?_

_Platform nine and three quarters isn't entirely pleasant at night. But most places are like that if you get to know them under completely different circumstances. For seven years I've experienced King's Cross in bright daylight, and now it's midnight. For seven years this platform has been crowded, and now I'm on my own - fortunately. For seven years I've thought the train to Hogsmeade went only at the beginning or the end of the holidays, and luckily I was mistaken again._

_The light is a bit orange, the tiled floor is cold. But at least this summer has been warmer than last year. Anyway, I didn't notice much of that. Between bright bars, underground stations and beds (not necessarily just my own) there is no room for seasons._

_If I will live at the end of summer? Only a week ago the odds would have been in my favour - that means, if I hadn't overdosed, if nobody had sold me dirty stuff, and if there hadn't been an insane mass murderer among my clients. To sum it up, not bad for a junkie._

_But I think I'm repeating myself. This pencil won't live much longer. I've got a knife to sharpen it, but it's already rather short. The sheet of paper I'm writing on comes from Thomas' typewriter. If he's got bad luck he won't need it again anyway._

_If I were old and bitter I could blame everything on him,. The scars. The clients. The syringe in my shoulder bag, reassuring in its mere existence. But from some reason I can't be mad with him. He isn't lucky, either. Lying in hospital, overdosed. And when he wakes up they'll ask him to choose between prison and an institution for drug addicts. If he survives._

_He has tried two withdrawal treatments so far. He says the only thing that's different from a prison is that drugs are harder to get._

_Strange, they say junkies aren't motivated. Perhaps I haven't been on H long enough (I don't know how long - fate can be ironic at times), perhaps am merely a suicidal whore trying to get her own back. For one thing is certain:_

That_, dear Lord You-know-who-you-are (and I know, too, but I don't even have the courage to write that name down), whatever: _That_ was too much._

_I still have one of the jewels, after all._

_(Lily Evans)_


	9. The Phoenix' Ashes

A/N: um... sorry for the delay. I don't know exactly what kept me from uploading... I mean this chapter has been finished since January... alright, hit me. I like it.  
Well, actually, I don't. Hit me anyway.  
This chapter has been beta-read by Snuffles and Ayla Pascal. Thank you.  
A few people actually reviewed the last part on ff.n: Brityn-ness, Wednesday Addams, Flightless Angel, Psycho Cowgirl, Ayla Pascal, Yael (I did it. The story's on Schnoogle. Are you happy now? ;) Thank you, too.  
And if there are actually any readers left: thanks for reading.  
I feel so thankful right now...  
Oh, and if you aren't already bored with me, go to http://www.side7.com/art/commcomm/gallery.html - _after_ you've read (and reviewed?') Liliacea, of course :) There's fan art, and other stuff, by yours truly.  
The next chapter is coming soon, I believe. It all depends on Ayla :)  
Argh, too many little smiling faces in this A/N. I think I'll return to my usual depressed self now.  
The Divine Comedian  
_  
Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Liliacea 10 - The Phoenix' Ashes  
_  
Hogsmeade, June 4th - 5th 1976_  
  
It had been a warm summer night. The stars were shining. The wind was blowing weakly.  
And in fact it really was like that: still the night was warm, the starlit sky had hardly moved, as it seemed, and the wind had rather weakened. In fact, it was blowing with less force then before. Only the living had changed.  
For Remus was indeed freezing. The wind was messing with his hair. And even the stars - at other times making up for the threatening, almost half full moon - they seemed to have lost part of their significance.  
He carefully avoided casting a glance at the house behind him, which was still standing, despite everything that had happened. Houses didn't seem to have a sense of decency. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the street. The others had been due to return hours ago. At least to him it felt like hours without noticing even the slightest stir. Admittedly, though, his field of vision was rather small, as the Hogsmeade main street made a sharp turn just before the McKinnons' house. Farther away he could see it again, winding up the Hogwarts hill, a mere path there.  
He looked at his watch. Only ten minutes had passed. By now they had to be on their way down the hill. He couldn't think of any possible reason for the delay. What on earth could be keeping them?  
There were tracks of blood on his hands. Her blood. Although Remus was sure nobody would be able to recognize them in the dim lights of the street lamps, he tried to wipe them as clean as possible in the grass of the front garden.  
Twelve minutes. This could already be too late, too late for her.  
Some time later Remus could finally make out several lightspots moving downhill. He gave them five more minutes.  
He didn't dare turning around. Instead he tried to concentrate on what he would say. Behind him, where the silent house stood, something grave and threatening seemed to gather. And it was calling for him - it recognized the werewolf as someone rarely familiar. Shape- and massless hands seemed to pull his cloak and hair as if trying to drag him towards that black hole.  
The house was thinking?!  
Possibly not the house, but something inside.  
Or maybe he was just hallucinating. At least he hoped so.  
In the meantime his sensitive ears could hear steps of somebody coming closer, and one minute later they arrived.  
"Too late, headmaster", he heard himself saying, "Justine is dead". And she probably was by now. He didn't deem her chances very great anyway.  
Seconds later he congratulated himself for the idea with the Death Eaters who allegedly had taken Justine's body with them. To explain its absence would probably have been a bit of a problem later.  
_ I'm sorry, Lily_, he thought when he saw her reaction to that message.  
He swore silently. It would attract too much attention if he didn't leave with the others. One or two hours could pass easily until he would finally be alone. But she hadn't that much time.  
He had to leave Hogwarts as soon as possible.  
  
***  
  
_ July 22nd, 1977_  
  
Two hours left. It's getting colder and colder on this wretched platform.  
It feels like somebody's been planning everything. I haven't thought of it for more than a year, but when I packed my things, I found the marauder's map in a bag I hadn't used for a long time. I had pocketed it before we found Justine in Hogsmeade. The map will probably be useful when I'm searching for the other jewels. Secondly, there is a train leaving for Hogsmeade just the night I've decided to go. And the fact I've stopped taking drugs exactly four weeks ago. Strange. Who's holding the strings? I can only think of one person, but that answer is so illogical I wouldn't have considered it under normal circumstances. But then, the day before yesterday...  
Strange. Four weeks without drugs. I'm both feeling better and worse than before. A feeling not worth wanting. I've got the syringe with me, just in case.  
Once upon a time, an ex-junkie set out to the world, wanted to defeat the roots of evil, her only weapon being a jewel that had never shown the slightest sign of magic in her presence, not even a wand belongs to her possessions anymore...  
Even in my ears it rings like a bad joke.  
Cherry wood. I'd really like to know whether it's water resistant. Given that the giant squid hasn't already eaten it or used it for its nest or whatever giant squids do with wands...  
My own life increasingly lacks a good deal of logic. Since that night I first dreamt of those bloody lilies it's getting messier and messier. I don't know why, I'm not making it, am I?  
The lilies. As long as my memory reaches back I've always got lilies at various occasions. Birthdays anyway, but also for Valentine's Day and once for the beginning of school (as if I had wanted to celebrate that, of all things).  
I hate lilies. I like sunflowers, daisies, cherry blossoms, even roses at times, but I hate lilies.  
Who is responsible? Who's messing with my dreams without asking? Who's laughing malignantly while my hands are burning?  
Rowena.  
She chose death, why is she violating my life now? I wasn't even in her house.  
I thought I was rid of her. For one year I've been rid of those dreams. Until two days ago.  
Thanks ever so much.  
  
The 22nd day in July, 1977, had only begun. One day later Lily would have to bring Thomas to hospital, but so far everything was quite normal.The hands on the clock showed a few minutes after midnight. Lily lay on one side of the single bed. It was much too warm too lie in bed with another person, she thought. It would have been much too warm even on your own, even though she was just wearing her underwear. That, in fact, was the reason why she couldn't sleep. The full moon shone directly into her face. The window was wide open, but there wasn't the slightest breaze. Breathing was nearly impossible.  
In the pale light the room was looking peculiar. It was untidy anyway, but, apart from that, Lily wasn't able to relate any of the scattered shapes in the moonshine to a concrete image in her mind. It looked like the bottom of a river - many slurred pebbles that, some time ago, had looked completely different. They had not only long since lost their colours, it was as if they had never possessed any defined attributes. That was what the moonlight did to things.  
To things... to the living as well. For the first time in months Lily's thoughts wandered to Remus. Where was he right now? The Shrieking Shack was not likely. A forest, a cellar, a locked house. She knew he could already be dead, hit by the silver bullet of a self-appointed hero, as the victim of another person's inferiority complex.  
Even the air had decided to join in the moon's little game. It was suffocating in here, the molecules seemed too lazy to shift the slightest bit, but still an imperceptible wind seemed to blow, giving the underwater scene an impression of flowing. All sounds were stifled by the inaudible rush of water - as if the sound waves were inert. It was almost deadly calm, although there was a lively street below them. Lily could even see the reflection of head lights passing cars let wander across the ceiling.  
Minutes passed, which didn't feel like minutes. Time had become sticky. The seconds were dripping in irregular intervals.  
Softly, very carefully, Lily put a foot on the wooden floor. She knew for sure that this floor board usually creaked, but it must have forgotten this time. Lily was about to open the window. After she had waded through the air for a while she remembered that it was already open. She just stood there anyway and stared out into the night. Directly above there dark clouds had gathered. Below her two men were arguing, whose voices sounded faint and distant. But she was looking directly into the face of the moon. It was just visible above the roof of the opposite house, looking bigger than usual, threatening. It was suggesting something, but what?  
The door squeaked, right behind her.  
Lily turned around.  
The outer door was slightly ajar. This was decisively odd, as it had been locked before and she hadn't heard the noise of somebody making a forced entry. Where the shallway would normally have been seen one could merely see a frame of radiant light, outstanding even the moon in intensity.  
If the moon was behind her and in full, this had to be...  
...the sun.  
Gone was the impression of being underwater. Gone the floating of the air. Gone the trickling of time. She could hear a clock tick; the sound of traffic was audible from below, as well as the two men arguing in raising voices and eventually joined by a woman's voice. As if hypnotized Lily stared at the three lines of light which were - strangely enough - not even casting shadows. And that made clear to her that she was dealing with magic here meaning that logic wouldn't necessarily help anymore, as Sirius had once put it in a nutshell.  
Lily was rummaging in her bag - which she was using instead of a wardrobe - looking for something to slip into. The first thing she found was something old, red, long, shapeless she had already worn at Hogwarts. By now it was anything but tight. She advanced on the door. She would have expected the temperature to rise, but instead it was getting colder. She touched the door knob, drawing back her hand instantly - it seemed to be made of pure ice. The second time she was prepared and opened the door determinedly.  
It was so bright she had to close her eyes. The staircase was still there, but it seemed to burn with a frozen fire. She leant against the door frame, not caring how cold it was. The light seemed to search its own way through her closed lids. It was getting brighter and brighter until its intensity reached a climax, then it began to fade gradually.  
Lily shielded her face with one hand and carefully opened her eyes.  
The staircase looked as always, possibly a bit brighter, possibly a bit colder, but, all in all, it seemed to be reassuringly normal.  
But hang on, what happened now? The stairs, the banisters, all the other doors, everything got strangely transparent, as if the fading of the light was continuing. She turned her head and saw that the moon was shining with former intensity. She looked at her hands, her arms, and realized that the room wasn't the only thing disappearing - she was fading as well. For a tiny moment she perceived blood-vessels and muscles, then bones beneath her transparent skin. She looked up and saw the other flats behind the doors. And it was getting darker. Only a few seconds and then...  
Total darkness didn't come.  
For all of a sudden it was bright again. But this light was of a different quality, warm and calm. It was spring. The Big Lake was glittering in the red sunlight - whether it was setting or rising she couldn't tell. Lily noticed that she was leaning against a tree and took a closer look at it. It was a weeping willow, one that she recognized, but only from an ancient map of the Hogwarts grounds. The branches were touching the surface of the lake. Lily looked in the direction of Hogwarts. But the castle looked different. At the place where normally the Gryffindor tower would have been - ruins. The other parts were damaged as well. Lily shivered, as she realized where she was - and when she was.  
And there, at the shore - only a few yards away from her - there sat somebody. A woman in a loose, dark-blue robe. The hem was wet - as if she had been wading through the water. Her feet were bare, the long, auburn hair open and streaked with a single white strand.  
She gave Lily a disdainful stare.  
Lily didn't wonder for long what the other one was doing - obviously the woman was picking flowers.  
A bunch of lilies, smeared in red, lay next to her.  
  
***  
  
_ Hogsmeade, June 5th, 1976, early morning_  
  
Ninety minutes. It had taken him ninety freaking minutes to get back to here. Nothing more than a person's life depended on how long it was taking him...  
At least Dumbledore hadn't acted positively unbureaucratic.  
Remus was standing in front of the McKinnons' house. There was still a certain hint of danger - it would probably never wear off completely. But the swarming lighty of the officials from the Ministry of Magic made it feel a lot safer. The only difficulty would be to pass them unnoticed, as the hastily summoned aurors would probably react rather sensitive to unexpected intruders after a crime like that.  
But only if they could see them.  
Remus held James' Invisibility Cloak in his hands. James would very likely kill him, but he was going to give it back - one day. Anyway, he needed the cloak. Remus had fought with himself for minutes whether to return to this place, but had finally accepted there was no other possibility if he didn't want to fly to Ireland on his broomstick. Not a single fireplace at Hogwarts was part of the floo network. In the seventeenth century, when floo powder got much cheaper due to a new formula - an obsolete wizard called Nicolas Flamel had found out that pulverized feathers of any migrant bird could replace the ashes of a phoenix; it had become the magic means of transport number one. There had been a headmaster at Hogwarts who was rather enthusiastic about the progress and wanted to connect Hogwarts to the network immediately. Merely his consultant - a lord who called himself Saint Germain - pointed out to him with as much politeness as possible that such an idea was absurd; what use would the Anti-Apparation spells be then? Remus slipped into the cloak. Promptly he was overwhelmed with the familiar lack of orientation - he actually hated the Invisibility Cloak, it made the world look so... different. Everything seemed to be farther away than it really was, so one tended to stumble into things along the way - especially at the beginning. And it didn't exactly support secrecy if one of the semi-living suits of armour was knocked to the stone floor while swearing and clattering loudly with Filch and his recent cat (he had a new one every few years) being just a few corridors away. That had happened more than once.  
Fortunately, the door was open. Remus entered the entrance hall at the ground-floor. The bodies of Justine's families were still lying where they had been before. A ministry official was taking photos of the scene. Remus wondered why the man was using the more expensive magic film - recognizable by the green smoke protruding from the camera - as, with a motive like that, there wasn't any kind of motion likely to be be expected on the developed photos. He looked away - now somehow glad about the tunnelled view - and tried to get onto the first landing without smashing the vase on the floor. The living room with the fireplace was situated in the first floor - fortunately there weren't any more dead bodies to be expected. He was already feeling slightly queasy.  
The living room was perfectly tidy. There were pictures on the wall - probably not chosen for their artwork, but to match the furniture in colour. Warm shades of brown dominated the room, the walls were wainscoted in wood, the armchairs heavy and plump. It was the only room the house that wasn't lit by torches but with a huge chandelier. The fire in the chimney had nearly burned down, but it was sufficient to transport him once more.  
He felt guilty somehow, when he helped himself again to the McKinnons' floo powder. The thought that they wouldn't need it again didn't exactly comfort him. He threw a handful into the flames. They were blazing up in a poisonous shade of green. Remus took off the cloak and tucked it under his arm, then he made a step into the fire. As usual, it got hot, much too hot - he should have remembered Lily's flame freezing charm, that made it usually more bearable.  
He said a rather complicated address and swore that he would get himself an easier name for his flat and register it with the Ministry, then he wouldn't have to swallow so much soot.  
Cursing he stepped out of the fireplace, having finally arrived.  
The curious official who opened the door to the living room that very moment only saw the high flame tower collapse to nothing.  
  
***  
  
"Sit down," was all Rowena said. Lily did so. Cross-legged they sat facing one another. Fascinated, Lily was watching Rowena. Her hands - Lily had never seen hands like these, although she couldn't really say what exactly was so strange about them - those hands were tearing the petals off the lilies and throwing them into the water together with the stems. The blood had left tracks on her hand, on her robes. Her movements were brief and experienced, although Lily had the impression that something like rage or despair was behind them.  
And now Lily realized what was different - Rowena looked exactly the person she must have been on the eve of her death, when she had written - according to Remus - the most intelligible and reasonable diary entry of all. There were no signs of insanity in all of her movements, she seemed neither childlike nor absent-minded, but she was the great witch who had co-founded Hogwarts - intelligent and exceedingly alive.  
Suddenly Lily noticed the woman was staring at her. She returned the glance, looked into sea-coloured eyes. And this slightly spoiled her former impression - she seemed sane, but only in comparison.  
"Take a better look at them," said Rowena coldly. It took Lily a while to work out what was meant by these words. Finally, she followed Rowena's eloquent gaze down.  
The lilies - there was no blood on them at all. Or was there? Reality rippled and showed her one image and the other one at the same time. The blood seemed to get translucent for seconds, only Rowena's hands - still moving - remained the same.  
By now it had become clear to Lily she was dealing with a sunset. She had no idea why she couldn't have told by the direction - too much muggle influence, she assumed - but it was steadily getting darker.  
She knew she wouldn't be able to convince herself that everything was a dream. She had come to know Rowena well enough to not ask herself that. At some level of reality, this scene was probably really happening. At some point, Lily realized Rowena must have asked her something. She returned from her mental expedition and looked at the woman again.  
"I asked you why you've given up searching," she repeated coolly. And her hands were still occupied with the lilies. Few were left, however.  
Lily remained silent. What could she say, anyway?  
"You ought to know that Voldemort has one of the jewels." Lily reacted as Rowena had expected. The woman smiled at the shock in Lily's eyes.  
"I warned you. I told you there was a traitor among your friends, but you didn't seem to care. One of the jewels isn't were it used to be."  
"And what do you expect me to do?" asked Lily, irritation showing in her voice. She got a look that one would usually direct at a mould colony on one's favourite jam.  
"I expect you to seek the third crystal. And to use it. Is it that hard?" Rowena focused on the lilies again. She was riping out the petals more forcefully now, but yet slower, as if she were enjoying it.  
"Haven't enough people died yet because of those jewels?" asked Lily, a hint of timidity in her voice. Rowena's facial expression softened a bit.  
"Can't you feel what they are, what they want?" she asked in a whisper. "They're craving for blood, for death. We created them, but they ended up much stronger then we expected. Soon even the power of Lord Voldemort won't be sufficient to appease their hunger, soon they will choose their victims by themselves." Lily had a hard job not to get lost in those eyes. Rowena didn't even blink. Lily trembled with a feeling she couldn't describe with words. She didn't know whether Rowena was talking in fear... or in insanity. Lily turned cold.  
"And if Lord Voldemort decides to use them - not even he will be able to control them for long. But give them Voldemort's life, and they will sleep for some time." She averted her face. "At least I hope so," she muttered vaguely.  
"And what are you doing? Hiding at the muggles' while Voldemort has most likely laid hands on one of the jewels. Coward!"  
"But he can't use them - he's a pureblood..."  
"Voldemort will find a way, don't worry about that. He almost equals Salazar when it comes to inventiveness," hissed Rowena.  
"And I, of all people, am supposed to kill him as you killed Salazar? An extraordinary relationship, really!" replied Lily coldly.  
A moment later she already regretted these words. Rowena's hands were around her neck and pressed. She couldn't breathe. But was it possible to suffocate at a place like this? She didn't want to take a risk, however. Lily tried to get those hands off her neck, but it seemed impossible.  
"What do you know..." spat Rowena. "One more word about Salazar..." and she pressed harder. "...and you will be the one to rot in my grave."  
She let go. Lily fell backwards, gasping for breath. Her head swam. She could still feel Rowena's hands where they had been moments before.  
She saw her face above her, perfectly emotionless again. Rowena offered her a hand.  
"Follow me," she merely said.  
And the world swam and went black again.  
  
***  
  
_ June 7th 1976_  
  
She couldn't tell the exact time of her awakening as it was a continual progress. The comforting warmth that had surrounded her until then was slowly fading, as if it was sorry. She could hear a steady rushing and first thought it was her blood, still streaming out of her body. Only a long time afterwards she found out it was raining outside. It got chilly. She was trembling slightly. But when she tried wrapping the arms around her legs she realized it was impossible for the time being. Her muscles disobeyed her.  
She couldn't see anything. But whether the darkness was behind or in front of her eyelids, she could only guess. Her fingertips and toes were itching, senses were slowly coming back to her - save her right hand.  
Why hadn't her body remained numb? Dull pain pulsated, It seemed to come from her very bones. Now she succeeded in raising her right arm a bit. The hand dangled lifelessly. It was much heavier than she remembered. She could hear her heart beating a frantic tempo.  
Maybe she should just give up trying. She had already given up herself, hadn't she? Every breath - now that she concentrated on breathing - fatiguing. She could as well stop it.  
It appeared to her it had gotten brighter. Her view, however, was oddly blurred. Now she knew there was a window next to her. It was looking greenish behind the glass. The room itself probably consisted mostly of wood. Her body, of which she had caught a glimpse, looked pale, almost white. It seemed to glow.  
Strange.  
Through half-closed eyes, she noticed a movement. A person. He was holding something.  
One of _them_.  
She wanted to resist, at least she tried. He pushed her arms away with one hand. The other one was approaching to her face. She averted it. He muttered words that maybe made sense - she didn't know. It was odd, though, his touch didn't cause any additional pain.  
But with _them_ you never could tell. What you saw and felt wasn't necessarily what really happened. But she didn't have a chance, anyway. She felt something touching her lips, something liquid was running down her throat. It was hot, far too hot, and it burned, but those sensations faded shortly after the first contact. She was thankful she didn't swallow it the wrong way. The figure in front of her was blurring more and more, and it got darker. Her body got heavy, so heavy...  
And then she couldn't hear the rain anymore.  
  
When she woke up the next time, she was certain that the darkness lay around her. Too be exact, it wasn't completely black, but a faint light came from the window. That was probably the moon, she thought and was astonished by herself the next moment. That she could remember something as elemental, as beautiful as the moon.  
She tried to sit up. She didn't succeed, but she managed to turn to one side, thus having the window directly above her head. She could see much sharper than before. Her body, so pale a while ago, was mostly covered in bandages. The numb right hand had been wrapped with several layers of fabric and looked rather shapeless. She looked at it and a memory rose in her mind: a nail in her flash, removed much later unconventionally, but with due respect for the wound. That was the last thing she could remember. The events before arose from the temporary oblivion, and for a short, merciful moment they seemed too absurd to be real. She, a Death Eater? But something was visible between the white on her left forearm, a few black lines, which her merciless memory completed to a horrid skull and a snake.  
She saw that image and felt ashamed for the first time since her awakening. For what she didn't know exactly as she had betrayed both sides at some point, her friends, her master.  
She could touch her face with the fingers of her left hand. She found scars there, as she had expected, but it didn't feel half as bad as her memory kept telling her. Something must have happened to them.  
She tried to open the bandages on her right forearm. There were scars underneath, but they appeared harmless as well.  
Magic, probably.  
If it had been possible, she would have slept herself. Magic - the most important part of human life, but still she was always searching for logical explanations - without necessarily coming to conclusions. Her Lord would never have made a mistake like that.  
Her Lord... Voldemort... she remembered something that he wanted, something that she had had and what she hadn't wanted to give him - the crystal! Did he have it? It wouldn't have been hard for him or Felicia or Jerome to find the jewel in her house as long as they had known it was there. She realized that, from a certain point of view, all people's fate depended on how convincing her lie had been.  
She sighed. Her life would be so much simpler if it hadn't been for the whole world trying to mess it up.  
Her fingers were touching her head. It felt strange, her hair, irregular as this. They hadn't ripped it out, although it had felt like that, she realized now, someone had rather tormented her head with a pair of scissors, not really caring whether cutting through hair or through skin. She felt dried blood and isolated tufts of hair that had survived the attack.  
She didn't want to know what she looked like.  
She tried sitting up for a second time, and succeeded. Her head swam for a long moment; she felt sick. Then it got better. She stared at the bundle that was her right hand. She could imagine what one could see underneath, although she tried to avoid such thoughts. Where was he, the man from before? That wretched silence in here, all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. But there had to be someone else. She was sure.  
She wouldn't have wanted to be alone here.  
Then she remembered it had to be night. People were sleeping at night, didn't they? She could vaguely remember that this didn't apply to everyone. Not for her, for example. She knew she would never fall asleep now. In fact, she had never been able to fall asleep.  
She turned her head to look out of the window. Everything appeared grey in the moonlight, but she knew from before it had to be green. Something was shimmering. A spire. There were few lights.  
The room was really made of wood, the walls as well as the furniture. Only the fireplace was tiled.  
The fireplace... and another remembrance came back. She knew what she had said - what she had asked for. What she had begged for. She had spoken of a fireplace, of Floo powder.  
She took another look at the room, finally focused on the spire. That solved the problem who was sharing this hut with her.  
Remus Lupin.  
And it also solved the problem of the exact location. A while ago, Remus had been talking of having moved out (and God had she been envious). He had told the name of this village - she had long forgotten it, but she knew it was somewhere in Southern Ireland - and that it was special. It was the only place where muggles and wizards were living in peaceful co-existence while the muggles knew who those strange figures in their long cloaks really were. This mini-society was founded on mutual interest: the muggles profited by enchanted household appliances such as self-stirring spoons, whereas the wizards liked their bread without frog eyes and such for a change. Even Hogwarts got its food from the muggles as they had more talent to keep it eatable - they didn't experiment that much.  
An odd place for a Death Eater.  
Her face felt wet. It confused her. Was the window open? But it wasn't, and anywaay it didn't even rain anymore. She licked her lips. They felt dry and sore.  
And tasted salty.  
  
***  
  
And for a second time that night an unexpected change of location took place. The irritating beautiful spring day was replaced with a dungeon. Lily asked herself how that worked. She couldn't apparate at all, and Rowena - how had she gained so much power over reality?  
Beyond that, Lily was fed up with dungeons.  
Especially with this one. She knew it from a dream that she had almost forgotten. Only the graves were missing. But the light, the walls... everything else was familiar.  
She tried to keep away from Rowena, pressed against one of the walls. Not only did her neck still hurt, it would also have been rather absurd to die during a hallucination of all things.  
What did that woman do now?  
She walked along the walls as if doing a silencing charm. Meanwhile she muttered something in a language Lily didn't understand. It wasn't Latin, which she would have recognized although she didn't speak it. Of course there had been classes in the ancient languages at Hogwarts - Latin, Greek, Sanskrit, Persian - but she had never taken one of them - she had preferred dying uneducated to dying at a young age.  
Rowena seemed to melt into the shadows whereas it got brighter in the middle of the room. And like then Lily couldn't tell where the light was coming from. It got brighter and brighter until she had to protect her eyes with her face. She heard Rowena's steps - that confused her as Rowena didn't wear shoes. Nevertheless she could hear her coming closer. Rowena's hand seized hers and pulled her into the light.  
They stood face to face. Lily had still closed her eyes. She felt oddly disorientated.  
"Lily," whispered Rowena, "if you need me - I will be here."  
Where else, thought Lily, but in her own grave? Everything else would be downright illogical.  
Downright... magical.  
Rowena disappeared. Lily merely heard the air streaming to fill the vacuum that had so suddenly come into being.  
Somehow, she didn't wonder anymore how Rowena could have been solid enough to displace air.  
The light was losing intensity.  
Rowena seemed to have a soft spot for little games like that, didn't she? At least Lily could open her eyes again. She looked up. The ceiling seemed to be farther away than it was for some reason - probably magic. Lily couldn't make out any specific attributes, only that the ceiling was dark. Whether that was due to the colour or to the strange light she didn't know.  
However, she was sure something was floating from there. A piece of parchment with writing on one side. Lily fished for it.  
It was Latin.  
She felt like screaming.  
Instead she only did a rude gesture to where Rowena had stood a minute ago. A soft, but sneer laughter was the only answer.  
She turned around abruptly to leave this depressing vault the same way she had come here almost two years ago. She rushed through the door...  
  
...and stood in Thomas' flat.  
  
***  
  
_ June 9th 1976_  
  
The cauldron was tiny.  
Professor Yates would have laughed about something like that, thought Remus. She had always brewed her potions in huge cauldrons - to strain for effect, as she had said. Something like that she would merely have mocked, never used.  
But what was he supposed to do? That particular potion was only effective if recently brewed. Although crow talons, flobberworm liver and unicorn dung were relatively cheap at the moment he should better use them sparingly as he didn't know how long he would need it. On the other hand, that didn't exactly make the preparation easier. Remus looked at his old scales from school and tried to figure out how to weigh out one eights of a gram of that greenish powder. The fact he had already succeeded twice - at least the potion hadn't been deadly so far - wasn't really helping.  
But he hadn't failed his potions exam, this shouldn't pose a problem for him.  
Shouldn't.  
He weighed out half a gram, something the scales barely managed. He divided it in two. Wasn't the left heap slightly smaller than the right one? He pushed the powder to one side and back until he was somewhat satisfied. Then he repeated the process and put a small amount of the powder into the boilng water.  
No, potions had not been his favourite subject.  
He took another look on the recipe - he should have know it from heart by now, but he didn't. One third of a gram of flobberworm liver. He sighed.  
If Justine knew what the potion was made of... she would kill him as soon as she was able to get up. He could consider himself lucky potions hadn't exactly been her favourite subject, either.  
Finally, he had finished it and it had finished him. He pushed the door open, a steaming cup in his hand.  
To his great surprise Justine was sitting cross-legged on the bed. She was staring at him.  
  
***  
  
Damn, it was really time to wake up, she thought, still half asleep. Her body barely hurt and it was nicely dark. Anyway, she had the urge to move. She forced her eyes open and sat up abruptly.  
Well, it was probably been exaggerating to say it barely hurt. She rubbed her eyes and realized her left arm wasn't bandaged anymore. She examined the scars. They were barely visible, thin white lines on her dark skin. Her left hand looked the same. Only the right one was still numb. But now she was curious. She fiddled with the bandage - it was new and clean - to get it off.  
Well, she had expected something like that. The hole in her palm - not even situated in the centre, but more to the wrist - hadn't healed completely, of course. On the contrary it had bled again during her sleep. Her hand was sticky with the stuff. The fingers were bended and didn't move. Her index and middle finger raised the morbidity level with the lack of fingernails.  
Odd, though, she didn't care at all. It didn't look like she would be able to use her hand ever again, and nevertheless she wasn't really grieved. What she hated, though, was the colour of the dried blood. She pulled at the scab and succeeded. A bit of fresh, red blood protruded and ran down her arm. It was beautiful.  
She was startled by a sound. The door had been opened.  
Remus.  
Well, it had been obvious she had been facing an encounter like that.  
He put a steaming cup on the bedside table, which she hadn't noticed before. Whatever, there were many things she didn't know about, another one didn't make much of a difference.  
Now he came closer with a wet washrag. He sat down beside her.  
"Give it to me," he said. She obeyed, giving him her hand, but avoided his eyes. He cleaned the wound, then swabbed it with some of the potion. Justine watched fascinated as the lips of the wound contracted - she had no idea of healing, but it looked definitely better now.  
It dawned on her what had happened to the other scars.  
Her palm was smoking. She could have sworn that it hurt, but as she hadn't any feeling in her hand, she couldn't tell.  
It probably healed the skin, not the nerves.  
Remus wrapped a new bandage around her hand. The bended fingers made it difficult and the entire thing looked thus rather amateur-like, but it would do.  
"Thanks," she said. Her voice sounded strange. Rougher than she remembered. He looked at her in an odd way. So cold.  
Remus stood up and left the room. Moments later he was back, holding a mirror. He gave it to her.  
"Look at yourself," he said. She did so, feeling uneasy.  
She saw a small dark face. Brown eyes with heavy lids, dark shadows beneath them. The scars had healed well and were only visible when examined closely. Her scalp looked like a battlefield, though, with its isolated, messy tufts of hair in green and brown.  
No big surprise there.  
She handed Remus the mirror and looked at him inquiringly.  
"Was it worth it?" he asked.  
So that was what he was driving at.  
She thought about it. The answer was clear.  
"They didn't exactly let me choose, Remus," she answered. Justine touched her hair - or rather what was left of it - again. No good idea, she decided with gritted teeth, it still hurt.  
"You could have told the headmaster. Or us. Or anyone." Yes, why not?  
"Lien knew. What you have wanted to die that way?" The mere sound of her name still hurt. How long had it been? About two weeks probably. She didn't know the date. It seemed to her as if years had passed.  
He looked puzzled.  
"Why her?"  
"From reasons that are none of your business," she said and looked down. What did he know. The day Lien had discovered the Dark Mark - she had wanted to die that day. But strangely Lien had accepted her explanation.  
"But Professor Dumbledore - he could have helped you," he said. She laughed.  
"If Dumbledore was able to do something against Lord Voldemort, he would have done it already. He's just as helpless as the rest of us." She played her part well, didn't she?  
"You are pessimistic," he said. Justine looked up.  
"I'm realistic. You have never..." she hesitated, "you have never experienced Lord Voldemort in person." An uneasy silence followed her words. She noticed how Remus was startled every time she pronounced that name. But it felt good after being afraid to give something away for more than one year.  
Justine was the first to break the silence.  
"Nevertheless, Remus, I wanted..."  
"What?"  
"I wanted to thank you."  
  
_July 22nd 1977_  
  
Half an hour until the train arrives. Seems like I've been sleeping again.  
How weird have people to be to take the four a.m. train from London to Hogsmeade? Besides me, I mean. At least I've got a reason to be here. They're standing as far away as possible. Probably arrived a good while ago. They're freezing, that is.  
It's a couple, one of the kind that was much too present in the Paradise Lost. The wizard version this time, though. The man is tall, relatively slender and about thirty years old. His hair is something between long and short, black - but it's beginning to turn grey. He wears something dark, but I can't tell the exact colour - it's the artificial light. Hise wife or fiancée or girlfriend - whatever - is almost of the same height. Her hair is long, open, dark brown and wavy. Her eyes are huge, but they look tired. Her skin is white as marble. She's dressed exceedingly theatrical - a medieval-looking, dark green dress, showing a rather opulent figure. Everybody else, myself included, would probably look ridiculous in those clothes, but she doesn't. Both radiate and absolute, unshakable self-confidence. Watching them from my little corner, I can't help the feeling that I know them, have to know them. Where? No idea, I think my memory has suffered during the last year.  
I think Justine has mentioned them at some occasion, at least the woman. One of her father's acquaintances, I suppose. She described her so exactly that I ought to recognize her, actually. Shame I've got such a bad memory. Shove it, I won't remember the name anyway.  
It's beginning to rain. The platform is roofed, fortunately, but unfortunately, I'm sitting right at the edge of the roofed area, and of course the wind is blowing in my direction. Why not? And Murphy's Law is being proven again. So I'm gathering my things to move a few metres.  
Now they've discovered me. The woman's blatantly staring at me, but she averts her eyes when I look at her. She whispers something to him.  
And now I suddenly remember whom Justine was referring to. She's not an acquaintance of her father's, but a suspect.  
Oh crap. May I assume that those two are ex-colleagues of my ex-best friend? And that they will recognize me as well? If they knew of that pendant around my neck...  
But they don't do anything. I'll just hope they have convinced each other it can't be me. It's much better for my nerves that way.  
If Justine has told them about me, which is mere speculation. I'll better pretend to sleep.  
But still they're making me sort of nervous.  
  
***  
  
_ June 20th, 1976_  
  
It wasn't bright in the small kitchen, not really. The single torch on the wall didn't exactly help, not with the darkness outside. That was the reason why Remus hadn't drawn the curtains yet, although he desperately wished so as an almost full moon was rising. He had two days. He hated the moon at this time of the month, it seemed to mock him. But at least it lighted the room up a bit.  
He looked at Justine who was sitting at the kitchen table. She looked almost normal again, except for her hair - she had decided to keep irregular strands for the time being. But she had changed - well, that didn't exactly surprise him. She was hardly ever talking and at meals he almost had to force-feed her.  
"What's that?" she asked warily when he passed her a goblet with a steaming liquid.  
"Some kind of muggle tea, I think. The sell it in the village." Well, that wasn't exactly right. A lie, to be exact. It was rather a diluted variant of the healing potion. But he didn't feel like telling her of the unicorn dung.  
She drank and made a face. He pretended not paying attention and stirred a bit in the pan on the stove.  
"I can't stay here forever," she said suddenly. He turned around.  
"What's up with you?" he asked.  
"I'm pretty sure Voldemort will search for me."  
"Well, he probably would, but he has no idea you're alive."  
"Unlikely. He's probably planned my survival. Killing somebody they want to kill doesn't usually pose a problem for Voldemort and the Death Eaters." Her voice was trembling a bit. And he actually wondered why he hadn't wondered before - was she a murderer? Had she ever killed a person by order of the Dark Lord? He looked at her - she had buried her face in her hands - and almost couldn't believe. But she had, most likely.  
"And what should he have done that for?"  
She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe he just wanted me to be sent to Azkaban. Well, he almost succeeded, anyway."  
"What do you mean by that?"  
"God, you're naive." She gave him a strange look. "The ministry officials wouldn't have let me die. They' d have ensured my survival and sent me to Azkaban right away. Have you ever been there?"  
He shook his head.  
"I'd have killed myself there after a week, at the latest."  
He thought about that.  
"You wouldn't have."  
She raised an eyebrow. "Trust me, I would."  
"You aren't able to do that, Justine. You would only try again and again, but ultimately, you're too weak." Justine stared straight into his eyes for a moment. He saw rage growing in her. Then she jumped up.  
"I can prove you if you insist, Remus," she hissed. She got a knife out of a drawer, aiming at her left forearm.  
He reached her with an almost supernatural speed, trying to snatch the knife from her. She struggled, but he was stronger in the end - the fight hadn't been exactly fair anyway. However, both ended up bleeding, though not too badly hurt.  
She dropped to the floor, sitting with her back to the cupboard, and covered her face with her hands. He put the knife somewhere out of her reach and knelt down next to her. She was crying.  
"You're probably right, Remus", she said, "but leave me alone." He didn't obey.  
"I said leave me alone", she repeated angrily. He didn't react again, just continued looking at her. She was crying silently and stared back at him.  
"What do you want?" she whispered. She reached out a hand for his face.  
"Your eyes... they are so - yellow".  
The moonlight, of course, he had forgotten. He seized her hand where it was.  
"Life is not as difficult as you think it is, Justine", he said. She was still looking at him, but her expression had changed; he saw she understood.  
You can't be freed, you can only free yourself.  
She put her arms around him, and he lifted her off the ground until they were both standing. And they didn't allow the moonlight to irritate them anymore - Justine shut her eyes. Their lip met somewhere. Suddenly there were many more nerves than she had ever believed to possess. She couldn't fall anymore, never again. He held her tightly. There was no cause for worries as they would do the right thing, in any case. Names were suddenly lacking a basis of existence - what was there, what really mattered, was skin, were hands, were lips, were the two of them.  
  



	10. Claustrophobia

A/N: chapter eleven, finished since early March - call me lazy. No reviewers for the last part... okay, I think I'll get over that. It's almost three in the morning, I'm tired, and I don't know what else to put into this A/N. The next chapter is finished, but I still have to translate it - this could take a while, because school has started again (most of you are lucky, lucky people and don't even know).  
Beta-read by Ria, thank you very much!  
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, it's all JK Rowling's.  
  
Liliacea - chapter eleven - claustrophobia  
  
Dimmed light that was supposed to imitate a romantic atmosphere, but failed horribly.  
Well, whatever. Justine switched off the light eventually - the light-switch was in reach of the bed, after all.  
The almost full moon was shining through the open window. And it wasn't raining, for a change, it was merely drizzling.  
Nevertheless, contours were all she saw. But what was there to see? Rays of light, originally sent out by the sun, reflected by the moon, reflected by Remus, just to gather on her retina, of all places.  
Touches were just a more direct way of perception.  
They were sitting, facing each other, on an uninteresting and rather hard bed. That very moment, Remus bent forward a bit to kiss Justine once more. His lips were slightly dry, as she had noticed before. She buried one hand - the one that was still working - in his hair, and put the other arm around him. A light smell of tobacco lay on his body.  
His hands were under her shirt, which was already rather loose. Justine let go of him for a moment, thus allowing him to take her shirt off completely. She did the same to him. A short time later, Remus decided to let his lips wander downwards. She came closer.  
Inside, she felt a burning desire to know what he was thinking. And yet Justine was thankful that neither of them were speaking. Was that inconsistent? All the same to her.  
She didn't know what to do with her hands, so Remus clasped them with his own and just held them - for a while. And finally,Justinee allowed herself to sink backwards until she couldn't see the moon anymore, only its reflection on Remus' body.  
And she had to admit she liked the moon even better that way.  
A tactless midge hovered noisily next to her ear for a few seconds before finally resting on the wall. Justine killed it without wasting any thoughts on the insect.  
And she felt water drops on her face.  
The drizzling would probably grow into a real rain.  
All the same to her.  
It might be cold, but she was warm.  
The world might be a dangerous place, but this one wasn't.  
And all that was left, the part of her that had survived her life so far, it went astray in the soft rush of the rain, in the sound of someone breathing close to her ear, in the faint tobacco smell in the air.  
There was no guilt left when all conscious thoughts had faded.  
Everything went physical.  
  
_July 15th, 1977_  
  
Cold.  
The water was cold.  
For a minute, Severus just stared exasperatedly at the shower. He had lived in the cellar for seven years - a few levels up, though, together with the other Slytherins, but at least the water had always been warm.  
Until now.  
But that was only to be expected from an accommodation for free. At least Dumbledore had agreed to take Severus in just after Mrs. Fellystone had finally thrown him out, even if it was only for the summer holidays.  
With gritted teeth Severus held his head under the streaming water. No matter how cold it was, his hair needed washing as he had been too busy for such trivial matters in the past week.  
And anyway, one just didn't turn up at a wedding as greasy as this.  
Yet Severus doubted that the black Muggle suit - part of the disguise Dumbledore had gotten for him - served that purpose better. Not bothering whether the water was dripping from his wet hair down on his black robe (he owned at least ten similar ones), he reached for a bottle of shampoo on the shelf next to the shower. He turned the bottle to read the label.  
Muggle shampoo.  
With green apple fragrance.  
Had Dumbledore been thinking at all?  
He squeezed a meagre portion on his palm and sniffed. Green apple? It smelled terribly like chemicals, but decidedly not like apples. It might have worked with magic, but this was probably all one could expect from Muggles.  
But well, he didn't have much of a choice.  
He rubbed the garish green stuff into his hair and let the water stream again.  
Damn, this water had to come straight from the bottom of the lake. Actually - he had to be on the same level with the lake down here... Severus decided to not follow that thought further. After washing out the shampoo, he cast a glance into the mirror.  
He didn't like what he saw.  
There were dark shadows under his eyes, the skin was pale, and he had cut himself a while ago at his shaving session. He could really do with a Cheering Up charm right now.  
Severus began searching for his wand. Literally he looked everywhere for it, opened drawer after drawer in the cupboard, looked under the bed, on the desk, under the carpet, in an idle owl cage. He didn't find it.  
With a sigh he began searching the cardboards left from his recent move whose majority he hadn't unpacked yet due to lack of time. He knew his wand couldn't be there, though - he had used it only ten minutes ago to magically lock the door.  
But that didn't change the fact it wasn't there.  
In the end he found it in a pocket of his robe.  
_"Seccare"_, was his only comment. His hair was dry in a second.  
With itchy fingers he lifted the suit off the bed. Three-piece at that. Coming with a sparkling white shirt and a red glittering tie whose tastelessness made Severus shiver.  
Not to let him be misunderstood - he _respected_ Dumbledore, up to a point. He was one of the two greatest wizards of the twentieth century, after all. But still - his fashion sense was something you should only trust if you enjoyed being stared at and pronounced incurably mad. He pulled it on quickly to be done, then returned to the bathroom to comb his hair.  
Somebody knocked on the door.  
Severus cursed.  
No matter how much respect he had for Dumbledore, it wouldn't stop him from killing that man one day. The mere idea to send him to the marriage of a former Hufflepuff to a Muggle woman was absurd. And all that just because some rumour had reached Dumbledore that the Death Eaters were planning an attack on the wedding service.  
Especially as he knew that no such attack was planned.  
The person knocked again.  
But to send him to said marriage together with James Potter probably topped it all.  
"Come in," he called ill-temperedly.  
"How d'you expect me to?" asked a sarcastic voice from the outside.  
Severus interrupted his combing to remove the complicated lock curse from the door. James opened the door loudly and stepped in.  
He took a nonchalant look around in the two rooms. Admittedly, it looked slightly chaotic, and his previous quest for the wand hadn't exactly helped, but did the messy state of his accommodation really allow that... that _ Gryffindor_ to snoop around in such an impolite manner?  
"I'll be ready in a minute," he said.  
"I should hope so," was the answer.  
Severus completed his work with a final stroke of his comb and left the bathroom.  
Good Lord, please no.  
James was wearing an identical suit, only his tie was green.  
Why, Dumbledore, _why?_  
But what really confused Severus was that this man was looking _ good_ in a suit. His hair, of course, stood out in every possible direction - couldn't he afford a simple comb or what? But a simple straightening charm would do, too, wouldn't it?  
The way James was leaning against the wall, the legs crossed, casting an eloquent look on his Muggle watch... Severus gave him a typical Severus glance that normally forced everybody to their knees.  
And then he discovered the white lily in James' buttonhole.  
"Let's go," said Severus and vanished through the still open door.  
"Um, Snape?" he heard that voice again.  
Severus turned around. "What else?" he asked, running out of patience.  
"If that isn't supposed to be some new kind of fashion, I'd highly recommend to wear a pair of shoes."  
He felt like hitting the man for a facial expression like this.  
  
***  
  
_July 20th, 1977_  
  
Struggling, Lily came to a halt. Where was she?  
It was just as dark as it had been before, down in the dungeons. The only thing she could make out in front of her was a rectangle in the dark, almost imperceptibly brighter than its surroundings.  
She was beginning to have enough of these unexpected change of locations.  
Only one step further, and she knew where she was. She stumbled over her suitcase.  
Lily cursed.  
Thomas turned in his sleep and sighed softly.  
Lily went to the window. The moon had risen higher, and it was further west. Lily had to lean out of the window just to be able to see it. There - there it was. On the upper left side of the sky, as her vocabulary was presently lacking a better expression.  
And Lily wondered how much longer she would be able to stare up to the moon without getting bored. She averted her gaze - the moon was her friend, despite all loyalty for Remus. And friendships were most easily destroyed by regular contact.  
Lily shut the window. She turned around to stare at Thomas instead. It was allowed, as this particular friendship didn't only consist of glances. And she was amazed once more. This boy could sleep! Lily could only speak for herself in this case, but as far as it concerned her - she would have been wide awake if next to her, someone had tripped over a suitcase and cursed loudly and rudely. Softly, she sat down next to him and stroked his hair gently. He almost never dreamt; she had always experienced him like that - so quiet, so separated from this world. Dead beautiful. He was a very quiet sleeper, didn't turn, never snored and didn't talk in his sleep.  
Thomas was awake just as he was asleep: so unobtrusive, yet taking up space. He was just there, but whether he was present Lily didn't know.  
He seemed to breathe just because he was used to it. It seemed to her as if he could live underwater. Thomas' sign of the zodiac was Pisces - how fitting.  
He was so taciturn about himself - of course Lily had asked him about the old photos she had found on his desk.  
He had never answered her questions.  
He knew how to take her mind off the subject.  
He was so short, barely taller than her, and so thin... and with every day, with every breath Thomas seemed to lose weight, just as the moon melts away at times.  
He was too good for this world, and both of them knew it. But as far as it concerned him - he was aware of his becoming estranged from this world, that he was fading away to gather his energy somewhere else, at a place nobody could reach. And not even Lily could change that.  
And he would kiss her as if he knew his kisses were keeping her alive.  
Did he suspect that she would leave her?  
She cursed silently again. It just had to happen that way, hadn't it? Admittedly, Rowena didn't seem too fond of clear instructions, but the last warning had been rather unambiguous. Lily took the piece of parchment out of a pocket.  
Suddenly she felt the burning desire to simply burn the parchment and live among the Muggles happily ever after. No Death Eaters here. No Lord Voldemort. Instead, there were drugs and the dail problem of getting something to live off.  
But it was predictable, most of the time.  
She read the message - at least she thought it was one - again. She still didn't get it, no surprise there. Why had she never bothered to learn at least one foreign language? But nothing could help her deciphering the text.  
So there was only one possibility.  
She had to find Rowena.  
But this last night - these few wretched hours - she would stay here. With Thomas.  
She wasn't looking forward to talking to him the next morning.  
  
  
***  
  
She woke up much too soon. She only seemed to sleep for seconds before the next day could send his penetrate summer morning light into the room.  
Sadly, she looked at Thomas. Of course she could blame everything on him - if he hadn't been sleeping that deeply, she could have kissed him once again, but... she simply wasn't able to wake this man.  
She didn't dare imagine what it had to be like for him, waking up in an empty bed, later. She looked at him again, one last time, as it seemed. In his sleep, he had put an arm around her.  
But something disturbed the silent farewell. A sound - familiar, yet it seemed to come from another world.  
Someone was tapping softly against the window.  
Actually, Lily didn't want to turn around, she was just used to it.  
She almost fell off the bed.  
A medium sized owl was fluttering outside and held something in its claws, something that even she, sleepy as she was, could hardly mistake for anything else but a letter.  
She got up - she was tired, so tired - and opened the window. The owl sat down on her outstretched forearm and screeched incomprehensibly, probably mad at Lily for not having let it in sooner. It could hardly wait for Lily to remove the letter from its claws, and then it flew off.  
Lily cursed. The owner of the owl was probably one of those who didn't take care of their pets - or, if it was a public owlery, it was probably one of those that were incomparably cheap for a reason. Either way, this particular owl had had incredibly sharp claws which it had not exactly painlessly dug into her forearm.  
She tore the letter open - her name was on it, but not her Muggle address. The sender seemed to have great trust in his owl.  
Thomas stirred behind her - her cry of pain seemed to have woken him at last.  
Wait - she knew that handwriting. These letters, huge but still completely untidy - just one person on earth could write like that. James Potter.  
"What're you doing?" asked Thomas sleepily. He still sounded very, very absentminded.  
Lily didn't answer. Instead, she fished a newspaper page out of the envelope - it seemed to come from the Daily Prophet, as the pictures were moving. One article was marked with red.  
Lily quickly skimmed over it - another double Muggle murder, in a small town in the north of England.  
"The murderers' identity is still unknown, according to unconfirmed sources a letter by the Death Eaters claiming responsibility is said to exist." That was it. Lily had suspected it two years ago - the magical community had gotten used to the murders, this article hadn't even made it to the front page.  
Or perhaps this was because the victims were Muggles.  
But why did James send her something like that?  
She looked into the envelope again and discovered a second piece of parchment - a letter. Curiously, she read it.  
  
_Lily,  
in case this owl reaches you,  
read the article. So far, not everything has been cleared - the Ministry is keeping a low profile on this -, Professor Dumbledore and I agree that your parents are probably the victims.  
Please owl me as soon as possible.  
My apologies,  
James  
  
_For a while or so Lily simply forgot breathing. This letter was so typically James - so honest, so hurting - that she almost wasn't able to get the meaning behind the words.  
She reached for a bottle on the table that happened to be there - it could have been kerosene for all she cared, but it was something high proof - and took a deep swallow.  
Her view blurred slightly. If drunken when sober, alcohol was very good for taking one's mind off things (people get so sick that they forget the rest).  
She knew she had to leave.  
As fast as possible.  
She called for Thomas, without the faintest idea on how to start their last talk ever.  
It didn't make a difference anyway.  
"Thomas?"  
He didn't answer.  
  
***  
  
_June 22nd, 1976_  
  
Eleven minutes.  
It was summer. It was still bright outside. The sun was already setting, but one couldn't see it, as it was hidden beneath the clouds. But technicall,y it ought to be setting now.  
The sun didn't matter for lycanthropes.  
Ten and a half.  
The hut had two doors. A front door and a back door. Both had merely a rather primitive muggle lock.  
That had to do.  
All Justine wished for was a wand. She stared at the front door as if her very glance could cause the necessary spell.  
It didn't work.  
With a sigh she turned around and checked the back door lock for the fourth time. It was locked.  
Nine minutes.  
She sat down on the floor, determined to not stand up for the following fifteen minutes. It was only one night, after all. A full moon night still, but it would be over at dawn.  
This hut was too small. A bathroom, a kitchen, a... well, a room. She didn't know what to call it.  
A place she couldn't leave.  
Seven minutes.  
Celestial charts. How did they measure the moonrise? Was it the moment when the centre of the moon appeared above the horizon, or the moment when the whole disc was visible? Justine had the strange feeling she ought to know. Astronomy classes with Professor Sinistra - an unforgettable event for everyone who had astronomy with the marauders. Sparks had always been flying in their surroundings, sparks that some other pupil, staring through a telescope, would mistake for an advancing comet.  
Nobody had ever doubted that this was their intention.  
Five and a half.  
It began raining.  
It didn't exactly surprise her, she was in Ireland, after all. But it was loud. This hut was made of wood and everything but sound-proof.  
Five minutes.  
Wait - was this watch exact? Muggles had built it - not exactly a quality proof. Justine stood up to check the kitchen clock. It, too, was Muggle-made, but perhaps the inaccuracies would cancel each other out.  
It showed exactly the same time.  
The kitchen window was open.  
Justine was absolutely sure she had closed it before. For a few seconds she just stared at it in disbelief. Then she shut it.  
Of course the wind had blown in her direction in the meantime. The whole table was wet.  
She dried it with her sleeve.  
Now her sleeve was wet as well.  
She took off her shirt and searched for a dry one in the other room.  
She didn't find one.  
Three minutes.  
The rain promised to last long. Now it was thundering as well. It had gotten noticeably darker outside. From time to time a bolt of light lit the room.  
Justine stood there.  
She held a wet shirt in her left hand.  
What was she doing here?  
She reached for the light-switch. Muggles probably needed everything as complicated as possible. It was so much easier, actually, just a wand and...  
Alright, it was probably not that easy.  
She threw the wet cloth onto the bed and got a dry one out of the wardrobe. And strangely she completed both actions without interruption.  
She pulled the shirt on.  
One and a half minutes.  
Justine sat down on the floor again. She didn't want to think of what would happen to Remus in ninety seconds. She would just act like she did every year on New Year's Eve - going to a deserted place and hoping to miss the countdown.  
Somehow it never worked.  
One minute. Justine took her watch off and threw it away. It landed in the fireplace. Luckily there was no fire. With a sigh, she stood up again to fetch the watch out of the ashes as she knew she wouldn't find it the next day.  
She lay the watch onto the table.  
Half a minute.  
Would he howl? Would he chase people? Admittedly, it hadn't been fair not to warn the village people of the danger, but, on the other hand, Remus hadn't exactly been keen on being lynched after only two weeks.  
It was _their_ fault, those obsolete, conservative...  
But to return to the original thought - would he do it? If a man would cross his way in the woods, would he tear him limb from limb so that his blood would soak the soil? Or would he only give him the one bite - a deep flesh-wound, a nice inflammation - so that the other one would share his fate?  
At first, Remus had searched for a hiding place such as the Shrieking Shack. But there wasn't anything similar around. So if Remus couldn't be locked up, he had to be locked out.  
Ten seconds.  
Justine cursed her sense of time.  
It was risky, but Justine had been on the wrong side of the law for too long to worry about that.  
Five seconds.  
She could look out of the window to see how they measured the moonrise.  
Or she could ask Remus the next day. He was used to it, after all.  
Of course they were playing with other people's lives. But it was those people's fault, a bit at least, wasn't it? You just didn't go into the woods during a thunderstorm. And everyone knew there were Werewolves around. One more or less wouldn't make such a big difference.  
Would the mother, who would find her ragged son under a beech-tree, or an oak, or simply in the fern, as _something_ that only distantly resembled a human being, would that mother share her opinion?  
Would the Muggle, who had tocarry his grandmother to the doctor to let her have a rabies vaccination, just to be _very_ surprised one month later, would that Muggle agree with her?  
Thirty-five seconds had passed without her noticing anything. Justine counted the seconds.  
Forty... forty-one... forty-two...  
From a great distance she could hear a long howl that was soon be joined by other voices - other wolves, other people.  
Forty-three... forty-four... forty-five...  
The lights went out.  
Forty-six... forty-seven... forty-eight...  
Just a power failure, as it seemed. Damn those Muggles.  
Forty-nine... fifty... fifty-one...  
A kingdom for a wand...  
Fifty-two... fifty-three... fifty-four...  
_I can see blood soaking the soil. I can see a wolf rearing up... he howls... he hates the moon... I do not know whether it is Remus. I do not hope so.  
_Fifty-five... fifty-six... fifty-seven...  
_And I can see something lying on the ground. Something - a human shape.  
I can see four people lying on the ground.  
And there is no blood._  
Fifty-eight... fifty-nine... sixty...  
_Avada Kedavra kills without blood, Avada Kedavra leaves everything else clean. I look into the people's faces, but I cannot see their faces.  
I can see...  
I know who they are. In fact, I can still see their tombstones, in a neat row, and a flower lies on one of them at times.  
Sometimes it is a rose. Sometimes it is a cherry branch with blossoms.  
Lilies never lay there, for Lily hates lilies._  
Sixty-one... sixty-two... sixty-three...  
And it got mercilessly dark when the clouds tried hard to cover even the last bit of the sky.  
Sixty-four... sixty-five... sixty-six...  
And a flash of lightning lit the room, and she, who had put her hands around her ankles, swayed back and forth as if the wind was blowing in the hut as well, and the flash of lightning frightened her.  
And if somebody had been here - but nobody was here, for _he_ was outside, in the woods -, if somebody had been here, they could possibly have heard her weeping.  
She was invisible.  
It was dark, after all.  
And the seconds passed without mercy.  
Sixty-seven...  
Sixty-eight...  
Sixty-nine...  
  
_July 22nd, 1977_  
  
She wasn't used to waiting.  
Not in this cold, not on a clean, yet common railway station. Absolutely not at four in the morning.  
Stations - they were for children and Muggles. The magical community didn't need locomotion the Muggle-way.  
But she had fallen into the trap.  
A few yards away, the social scum lay. Asleep.  
Mudblood.  
Luckily they had their informants among the Order of the Phoenix. A casual note on two Muggles' death - which Death Eater had kicked over the traces in that case? - and on a letter, and - voilà! - the trap had snapped.  
The Order of the Phoenix - what a theatrical name for a plain resistance group. But after all it was a theatrical order with a theatrical leader, that went well together.  
If only the train would arrive.  
Felicia would never have admitted that, but she was freezing.  
Softly, almost inaudibly she went over to that girl.  
Lily Evans. Eighteen years old, born on the first of June 1959 in Little Whinging, Surrey. A not particularly marvellous school-leaving qualification after seven years at Hogwarts, afterwards a year in London. First drug experiences during her school years, extensive consumation of marijuana, later joined by alcohol and heroin among several other drugs. Shy, depressed, antisocial, a tendency for hallucinations.  
Yes, the Death Eaters were well-informed.  
And what was lying in front of her - she had to admit, it had a certain appeal.  
On the other hand, Felicia could also derive pleasure from cemetaries, bird skeletons and dead unicorns.  
The hair so red it looked dyed, shoulder length; it stuck out into every direction. The skin almost white, even the freckles seemed pale. Even in her sleep, the thin fingers were still clutching a bag, a nasty cheap brightly coloured tie-dyed handbag. Her clothes were colourful as well and Felicia didn't bother to find out all the details. Probably everything looked like a disguise if this child wore it.  
She would die, of course. After she had served her purpose. And if the Dark Lord let _her_ do it...  
She still had the dagger.  
Until then, she would watch her. Would follow her. A feeling that would have resembled shame if she had allowed it, came over her. There was a time gap of about sixteen hours during which Evans had disappeared. Where had she been?  
If everything went as she had planned it, that wouldn't make a difference. Evans would be dead within a few days if everything went smoothly. Until then... only watching.  
Pointless, actually. Evans could only have one destination - Hogwarts. Already, there was a spy there.  
But if she had the jewels...  
Lilies were the flowers of death, but the white only became truly beautiful if joined by red.  
Slowly she went back.  
  
Lily tried hard not to move.  
It was only the rain that feigned the sound of steps.  
Hopefully.  
If not - whoever was watching her would hopefully soon be convinced she wasn't the person they were looking for. Whoever they were looking for.  
Of course she suspected somebody. The woman. She could almost see her standing in front of her, that disdainful glance of heavily lidded eyes, the derisively twisted mouth. Histrionics incarnate, right in front of her.  
And she felt her throat lying exposed. She felt vulnerable. The ribbon went, probably absolutely visible, straight across her throat. The pendant itself was hidden under her clothes - or could she see it? It seemed to get hotter, and it seemed to burn under her stare...  
So hot.  
It had to be visible. That woman was blind if she didn't see it.  
Damn.  
So she just lay there and waited for the two words Avada Kedavra to end it once and for all. The rain was so loud, she wouldn't even hear if the woman drew her wand. Or maybe she was already holding it, pointed at her.  
A sound that might have been loud but was too far away.  
It came closer.  
A rhythmic sound. A mob of poltergeists, or the Dementor revolution soundtrack. It came closer, ever so close...  
Lily raised her head and opened her eyes. She was relieved by what she saw.  
Absolutely nobody was standing in front of her. And the train had finally arrived.  
The compartments were empty, but brightly lit. Lily chose one at the very end of the train.  
The couple entered the compartment next to her.  
Lily spent a whole thirty minutes on searching for swearwords for herself. Obviously her brain had been still asleep, why else had she chosen this compartment, of all places?  
The train would only arrive in Hogsmeade the next morning. Until then she might as well try to sleep - if those two had the intention on killing her, it probably didn't matter whether she was awake or not, without a wand as she was.  
Strangely enough, that thought didn't exactly calm her down.  
  
***  
  
_June 23rd, 1976_  
  
It clicked softly when she unlocked the door. The key still felt strange in her hand, misshapen and cold as it was. Or perhaps this was because her hands were shivering, and, it took her more time to open the door than it ought to have taken her.  
The full moon had set exactly one hour ago. It was half past five in the morning. It hesitated to become brighter. The air was cool and damp and surrounded her as if it was a lake and she was drowning. And the world looked so innocent - the village, a short distance away, with the church she would have loved to visit, but couldn't. The trees and the grass, everything was so peaceful, so unobtrusive, so static. Justine gazed into the opposite direction - the woods. There, somewhere, was Remus now.  
Once more, she returned into the hut and fetched a warm cloak. The now familiar sense of guilt came back - everything she wore belonged to Remus. She didn't own anything, technically she didn't even exist anymore. One day she would allow herself a short visit to the Hogsmeade cemetary to take a look at her own grave.  
One day - why not now? She had been able to Apparate for more than one year now, the Death Eaters had taught her. And the thought of leaving this limited place, even if it was only for a few minutes, was certainly appealing.  
Justine sighed and slipped into a pair of boots next to the door.  
She left the hut without locking it. None of the village people would steal anything, and there wasn't anything worth stealing anyway. The ground was wet and sticky and her boots left deep tracks. They were old, the water was already beginning to soak her socks. She was heading for the woods. She hesitated for a second - even in the open air it was still rather dark, and the shadows in the woods - they didn't inspire confidence.  
But the full moon had set.  
Slightly more confident she walked towards the shades. It began drizzling - of course.  
Well, why not?  
But she had left Remus on his own for too long.  
Onward she went, always onward. She began doubting whether she would find him at all. But it got brighter and finally she could make out the clearing where she had left him the other day.  
At first she didn't see anything.  
Then she saw him.  
He was half sitting, half-lying on a bench, the eyes shut. Some tourism official from the village must have put it there - a good decision, otherwise Remus would be lying on the ground instead, completely soaked through. But he was soaked anyway. He didn't appear as battered as usual - a bit tired maybe, but he didn't seem to have hurt himself, as it had happened all the other times. Maybe he had really found prey this night.  
But the cold... he must have lain here for more than one hour.  
She knelt down next to him and gently touched his hair. He didn't react. She reached for his hand.  
She thought she noticed a slight stir, but wasn't sure.  
His clothes were torn and wet, his fingers cold as ice. She saw dark shadows under his eyes, she saw the old scar on his palm where Durak's silver dagger had touched it.  
Suddenly he grabbed her wrists with unexpected force. She wanted to step back at first, but didn't do it. His body writhed when he sat up abruptly and opened his eyes.  
They were yellow.  
Remus blinked and the next moment they were their usual brown. He got up without words, slightly leaning on her. She got up as well and had to save him from falling the same moment when he felt dizzy from the sudden upwards movement.  
Silence.  
And the sun rose.  
  
***  
  
_July 15th, 1977_  
  
It could be damn bright outside. At least for those who had just spent a whole night in the cellar of Hogwarts. Severus blinked. James, of course, had everything under control and replaced his usual spectacles with sunglasses.  
It looked as if it was part of the disguise.  
Wait...  
Severus reached into the pocket of his suit and found a spectacle case. James merely grinned mockingly when Severus put on the sunglasses as well.  
It was almost half an hour walking distance to the church. Severus cursed the anti-Apparation-spells all around Hogwarts. If Voldemort was really intent on taking the school, he assumed that a few trivial century-old curses wouldn't hold him off, either.  
And arriving at a wedding on a broomstick was absolutely unacceptable. Coming from a traditional-minded family he knew that, though he was sure nobody would notice anyway. A Mudblood and a Muggle! Honestly!  
Once again, James fiddled in some pocket and got out a slim silver metal box. He opened it. Of course the wind blew the papers away in an instant, as was to be expected.  
Now it was Severus' turn to grin.  
James didn't bother, instead he got another paper rectangle and a bit of tobacco out of the box, then he put it back into his pocket.  
Severus cast a side glance on him. He would never understand how anybody could walk and roll a cigarette at the same time, but James succeeded at his second try.  
"You'll smell like an ashtray, Potter." he said coolly. James took a deep drag and didn't answer.  
Twenty minutes.  
What an absurd idea.  
  
Several times during their way down, Severus had to fight back his desire to simply throw Potter into the lake, where a nice monster was waiting for him. This man didn't seem to lose his grin ever, not even for a moment.  
Well, admittedly, though - er - maybe it felt a little odd walking next to somebody who was constantly trying hard to breathe deeply and quietly, to concentrate on the flourishing nature and, for heaven's sake, not to flip, he was peaceful, _ever so peaceful..._  
The had almost arrived at the church when James stopped abruptly.  
"What's the matter, Potter?" asked Severus. "Forgot anything?"  
"Er, yes", mumbled James, "just wait here for a minute." He vanished.  
Of course Severus continued his way. The alternative would have been to obey James, and as _that_ was most certainly out of question...  
He examined the wedding guests that were shuffling in. A gigantic lack of security indeed, he decided, inviting all those Muggles to Hogsmeade. There had to be about fifty, and it would be a miracle to stop everyone from noticing all the magic around.  
Fortunately he wasn't the one who had to bother about that.  
He was bored anyway.  
James came back, but his presence didn't exactly improve his mood. He held another white lily in his hand.  
"The bride wants to have those. Shall I or do you want...?" he asked.  
Severus' cough closely resembled something like "stupid Muggle ideas", but he did attach the lily to his buttonhole.  
Lilies. On the one hand, the flowers of purity, virginity and all that jazz, on the other hand symbols of death.  
What on earth had that to do with a marriage? Severus didn't want to interfere with other people's weddings, but he doubted this union would last long.  
James tugged impatiently at his sleeve.  
"What's up, Potter?" Severus mood hadn't become much lighter.  
"We have to do the congratulations. Come on."  
"And what are they called?" James frowned.  
"You ask too much. I believe it's Finch and Fletchley, but I forgot who's who." So the two joined the queue of well-wishers while James was trying to talk Severus out of expressing his sympathy to the couple.  
Well, with _that_ finally behind them...  
It was cool inside the church. The lilies that were spread generously about the whole inside smelled strongly. It was boring, as had to be expected. James at least had the decency to pretend he was interested as the choirmaster was doing his preludes, but then again, he was waiting for a Death Eater attack. Severus hadn't bothered to tell him that the Order of the Phoenix usually only heard about a planned attack when it had already been cancelled.  
He also didn't tell him that no such attack had been planned. Why spoil the fun, anyway, it looked suspicious enough with only one of them asleep.  
Later - just as the groom was doing his vows - the service was first interrupted. Somebody stood up and left the church. Severus would have recognized him, but his eyes were shut.  
Then it was the bride's turn.  
But she didn't come to an end when suddenly, it was sheer pandemonium.  
Cloaked figures, all dressed in black, Apparated everywhere.  
The shouts and screams roused Severus.  
His first thought was - those idiots.  
His second though was - scram!  
His third thought was - he couldn't.  
The Aurors outside were only waiting for a signal of them, he knew. And he also knew the Death Eaters were outnumbered. So Severus shot the red sparks they had agreed on out of the door. The Aurors stormed inside in an instant.  
The Death Eaters didn't seem to have much of a chance.  
And Severus Disapparated.  
The attack _had_ puzzled him, after all.  
  
***  
  
Somebody knocked at the door.  
"What is it?", asked Severus irritably.  
The sun had set in the meantime. Of course, that didn't matter if one were down at the cellar, but Severus attached importance to that fact.  
James entered without a further word. He turned around to shut the door, thus missing Severus' rolling his eyes. James was still wearing the same suit he had worn that morning, though it looked slightly destroyed by now. The lily was still attached to his buttonhole.  
"What do you want?", asked Severus. James was beginning to go on his nerves.  
"Do you know Barty Crouch?"  
"Junior or senior?", asked Severus reflexively, then bit his tongue. Perhaps he should think before talking next time - being a member of the Order of the Phoenix, he was only supposed to know Crouch senior.  
James cast an odd glance on him,  
"Senior", he said after a pause.  
"Yes, I know him. So what?"  
"He's introduced some pretty good new methods - a few people have been sent to Azkaban merely on spec..." among them only one actual Death Eater, Severus added silently.  
"Tell me something I don't know yet", he answered.  
"He's taken over the job", said James. "Two Death Eaters are already on the ferry to the Azkaban island, another one has yet to be convicted". Severus raised his eyebrows in surprise. That man _was_ fast.  
"And there was one I already interrogated back at church - called himself Luis Malfoy. Do you know him?"  
"Related to Lucius Malfoy?", speculated Severus.  
"His brother. Although not exactly blessed with the same amount of intelligence, I have to admit. But then again, he told me some interesting things." It began to dawn upon Severus where James was aiming at.  
"_Expelliarmus_", said James almost casually and disarmed Severus.  
"And then you thought to yourself...", commented Severus.  
"And then I thought to myself, I'll just walk in here and ask whether you're licking Voldemort's boots as well, as Luis pointed out. He seemed rather attached to his freedom, good old Luis."  
"Anything else?"  
"Is he right?"  
"Yes."  
"Bloody fantastic."  
They glared at each other. Severus felt like hitting himself. Hard. If he had only stayed to interrogate the Death Eaters. A little memory charm here and there, and he wouldn't have to fear for his life.  
"I didn't tell you the tale of Barty's adventures just for my own perverted amusement, you know", James began after a while, "and you can be glad he wasn't there at the interrogation."  
"You want to threaten me", Severus stated.  
"Indeed, idiot. One word from me to a well-chosen authority, and you're in Azkaban. For life."  
"Great, I've always wanted to go there."  
"Wanker. Why won't you just ask for mercy? That would make everything much easier." James appeared to get angrier.  
On the other hand, he wasn't exactly the only one.  
Whereas Severus was just more controlled.  
James took a deep breath.  
"So Dumbledore asked me to inform you of an ultimatum - you can spy for us, or..."  
"Or what?"  
"The Dementor's kiss respectively a life sentence in Azkaban. You can choose."  
"Hell, I've been to Azkaban - for two days."  
James grinned.  
"I know. Dumbledore told me."  
  
***  
  
_July 22nd, 1977_  
  
Mind the step, Lily, it's _there..._  
That night, she had gotten exeptionanally little sleep. That was probably because she had spent the night in a compartment next to two Death Eaters...  
Lily blinked into the bright morning sun. Really, she was on the Hosmeade station. Alive. Nothing had changed...  
...except for the absence of one thousand pupils...  
...except for the light - it had always been dark when they arrived...  
...except for the station sign which had been painted green...  
so... nothing, actually.  
Why on earth had she chosen that train, off all things? She couldn't risk entering Hogwarts before dusk anyway.  
Well, perhaps she could take a nap instead.  
Her persuers had Disapparated somewhere just after they had gotten off the train, thus finally convincing Lily they had indeed been following her. Who else would go by train at four in the morning if they could Apparate in a matter of seconds?  
Sleep...  
Sleep...  
That bench over there looked comfortable...  
  
***  
  
She had the map.  
Besides that, she also had Rowena's odd message and couldn't read it.  
Anything else?  
Lily tried hard to think of something she could have possibly forgotten. Nothing, actually.  
Well then, off to have fun... sort of.  
It would have been a perfect night for a romantic rendezvous. The stars and the moon were shining, the air was warm, and it smelled like summer. And once again, Lily walked up the long and winding road... no, wait, wrong song... the path up to Hogwarts. She was planning on first trying the entrance door - if that one was locked, she would probably have to search one of the secret passage ways - that wouldn't be too hard with the map, but most of them had caved in in the meantime.  
She wanted to have her wand back.  
Well, it was probably rotten long since, deep down at the bottom of the lake.  
That was, if it hadn't been eaten by the giant squid.  
But she could have done with a bit of light just to read the map. That problem, however, solved itself some minutes later when she arrived at the entrance and saw that it was open and brightly lit.  
Lily had given up being surprised at things like that ages ago.  
She hesitated a bit before entering, took a last look around - it was such a beautiful night, what a pity she would have to spend it in the dungeons. The grass was soft and smelled good, the stars had been reflected by the surface of the lake, a few hundred yards further down, and it had appeared to be glowing from the inside - slightly more... blue than it ought to have been.  
It was so calm - as calm as no night had ever been, she thought - the sounds of any living creatures seemed to be missing completely - the wind was blowing, but didn't find an echo in the rustling of the leaves, all she could hear was the sound of steps - her own.  
When she stopped, she could still hear the sound of steps for a second.  
She looked around, but didn't see anybody. She had probably been mistaken, and even if not -those steps had been far away. She avoided the entrance door anyway and instead used a secret passage way whose insides she had never seen before.  
  
She stood in a weakly lit corridor. She didn't know where the light was coming from as the torches along the walls had been put out a long time ago. So she concluded that it had to be some sort of long-lasting light charm.  
She glanced down on the map. Was it destiny that there was only one single circular room in the whole underground part of Hogwarts? The way there would lead her several levels downwards, and she had to go... this way.  
After she had turned around the first corner, she could hear the steps again. But the person obviously didn't bother about not being heard - he or she rather seemed to head for a place in her own direction.  
Well, if they preferred it that way - the tables were subject to be turned.  
Lily hid in a side way and waited until the steps had passed her.  
Severus Snape.  
Bloody hell.  
  
The Order of the Phoenix was waiting silently.  
Severus appeared.  
He could almost feel their distrust. It had been one week since he had inofficially broken up with the Death Eaters - not exactly a long time to build up the necessary trust. Merely Dumbledore's behaviour didn't seem to be affected in any way.  
Well, perhaps it would be after the news he brought.  
  
Lily wasn't too far away from the door - admittedly risky. But this was what seemed to be a conspirational meeting of the legendary Order of the Phoenix, and she wasn't going to miss it. It had already existed in her time at school, though nobody had known exactly who was part of it.  
She smiled.  
Now she knew where Voldemort and the Death Eaters would meet the next time. _If_ she could trust Severus.  
  
The news seemed to have confused them slightly. Severus allowed himself a smile. Who would have believed he would give away a secret like this after such a short time?  
It looked as if they were beginning to accept him.  
Better for him. Lord Voldemort hadn't been... pleased to hear about James' discovery.  
"And one more thing", he added, when the general attention was on him again, "I'm afraid we'll need a new meeting place."  
James raised one eyebrow questioningly. "Would you explain that?"  
"Somebody followed me here. Probably a spy."  
James gave him a rather sarcastic look. "And, did you recognize him?"  
"I sure as hell did. 'He' is called Lily Evans."  
Lily was convinced that this was a very good moment to vanish.  



	11. The Positive Aspects Of Life

A/N: Er... no. I'm not even going to try to explain why it took me six months to translate this chapter. So there.  
And now, you can unwrap the rotten tomatoes and throw them at me.  
*Bows to the reviewers*: Catalina, Neo Madness, Psyche Stark, and mrsoliverwood on Schnoogle, and Eilan on fanfiction.net.  
A special thank you to DragonFire for beta-reading this chapter.  
Did I mention there's fan art? Drawn by yours truly... go to http://www.side7.com/art/commcomm/gallery.html if you're interested.  
And now... on to the story. Feedback is always appreciated.  
commediante  


The positive aspects of life  


_"Let us leave," said the first one suddenly. "This place means bad luck."  
"We ain't ever had no good luck," said the second one. He sat on the table, his head resting on his hands, and watched.  
The third one didn't say anything, but he had taken off his cap and twisted it in his hands.  
"What're ya sharpenin' the knife for, brother? You last used it two... three... three... um, more than three months ago," said the second one, knocking the knife out of the first one's hands. It wedged in the ground, blade first. It was very sharp indeed.  
After that, the second one jumped - or rather fell - off the table and staggered to his favourite place in the corner of the room.  
"What do you think?" asked the first one as he climbed off the table to fetch the dagger. The third one didn't answer. The first one continued climbing.  
"Found somethin'!" he called from the corner. The other two looked down.  
The second one was holding a strand of hair.  
"Just keep it, then, brother," said the first one, and the second one added it happily to the upholstery of his nest.  
Meanwhile, the first one declared himself done for this night. He was just making his way to his own nest, when suddenly, he spotted something sparkling.  
"Take away that cap, brother," he said to the third one.  
"Wh- Why?" he asked, but decided a second later, upon feeling the freshly sharpened dagger on his throat, that he could do without an explanation. He took the cap out of his lap with an artful movement – or so he hoped - and placed it on his skull.  
A blood red jewel fell to the ground.__  
_  
***  
  
A day - the world rotates and _she_ stays where she is.  
A month - the moon makes its way, and _she_ just watches.  
A year - the world circles around the sun, but the stars don't care what becomes of_ her_.  
A rainy, cool summer; a rainy, colourful, autumnal autumn; a rainy, strange winter; a rainy spring. Summer. Alone, always alone.  
A farewell letter; a shaky hand; vague accusations; there hasn't been a knife in the house for ages. He finds her down by the water. Her hands are digging in the wet sand. He talks to her softly, and she nods, postponing the suicide to the full moon. He takes her hand and leads her up to the hut, but she takes her hand away. She doesn't want to return but still comes along.  
And again she's in the bathroom, looking at the mirror. Then looking away.  
There is no knife. She uses nail scissors. The tip is the sharpest part. She follows one of the thin white lines on her forearm. She increases the pressure, follows the line again and again. Back and forth, back and forth. It takes a long time until there's blood. The pain barely calms down anymore.  
He sees the new scar and he doesn't say anything. He hasn't said anything in a long time.  
  
***  
  
One day, in spring.  
  
From here to the hill over there. She would make it.  
  
Justine gritted her teeth and concentrated on de-materialising her body. And on sending it one hundred metres westwards within just a moment. And on rebuilding it there out of thin air.  
  
It should be possible.  
  
One second later she actually was on the other hill. Sort of. Justine counted her bones and hoped that each one was back on its place. She had fallen two metres to the ground. And, on top of that, had left her shoes behind.  
  
Should be.  
  
Justine climbed down the hill, not without wincing, and stamped bare-footed across the wet meadow - rather some kind of swamp - to get to her shoes. She put them on.  
  
She would never reach England if she continued like that.  
  
No wonder she had preferred broomsticks or floo powder before. Though the Death Eaters had done their best to teach her Apparating - what she had learnt was gone.  
  
Another try.  
  
But not to that hill. She hadn't been lucky with it.  
  
***  
_  
July 22nd, 1977_  
  
There was a footbridge down by the river; she sat down on it. She had had the first success of the day - probably the last one as well - she had Apparated hither and had arrived in one piece, with all her clothes where they belonged and both feet on the ground.  
  
She tried to plunge her feet into the streaming water. Although it was summer, the water was cold enough that they hurt at first and then got numb. For the last few days, she had carried the nail scissors with her constantly. They were terribly unpractical, but when she had tried to touch a knife for the last time, almost a year ago, she had [got] scared, deadly scared, and after a few tries to pull herself together and use it, she had thrown it far away from her.  
  
And it didn't really bleed, actually. But Remus would notice. And again, he wouldn't say anything. Pity on him, perhaps she just expected too much of him. Just as she had expected too much of everybody.  
  
It grew darker, colder, and windier, and she lent back until she lay flat, wrapping her jacket tighter around her body. Only her feet were still in the water. She was freezing. Strange, though, she didn't exactly care - it was possible that freezing was a pleasant way of dying...  
  
(probably more pleasant than being cut apart by thousands of daggers)  
  
...and possibly she wouldn't have to get up then, wouldn't have to decide to take her feet out of the water...  
  
But the thought of freezing in summer seemed absurd.  
  
It was worth trying, wasn't it?  
  
The border of the footbridge was directly to her left. It was quite narrow, that was why she had fallen into the river before, but now she let her arm sink and plunged her hand into the water until it reached her wrist.  
And it got darker.  
  
Finally, the stars showed. They were her secret friends, for all that they probably didn't return her love.  
  
When she had been smaller, her mother had told her that everyone got their personal star when they died. She asked herself where hers was, for she hadn't felt alive for a long time. It was probably one you couldn't even see from here, a small, dark, unobtrusive star without planets, or a cloud of dust with ambitions.  
  
Then she remembered the day when she, at the age of possibly eight, had asked her father where Granny had her star. He had decided spontaneously to fetch her one - she could have predicted that - and afterwards, he had apologized.  
  
To her mother.  
  
And now she asked herself how Lien was doing. She wouldn't be a star, anyway. That slap in the face had actually taught Justine something - there were those stories that were beautiful and those that were true. She whispered her name into the night air - softly, so that nobody could hear her, the village wasn't far away. She had tried that often and never got a reply, to the point when she had cursed and threatened her, and she had tried it silently, while falling asleep, or rather: while trying to fall asleep (as sleep itself was out of the question for her), and never, never she had got a reply.  
  
And then she listened again into the silence, perhaps the audible world - the wind in the leaves, the rushing of the rain that fell often here, or the streaming of the river - carried the whispering of the dead with it, just in case they were actually saying something. But after that many tries, there was probably no point in it.  
  
There was probably no point in anything.  
  
Time to use the nail scissors? Perhaps. It was a damn reflex, nothing else. People eat when they're hungry, people drink when they're thirsty, people cry when it hurts.  
  
Even if her tears were red.  
  
She could have done something now. For example, walking back to the hut, one and a half kilometres. But for that, she would have had to make the effort to get up, and that was why she stayed. For now.  
  
"Found you," said somebody. Justine was startled.  
  
"Hm?" she asked, confused, and glanced up.She didn't see anybody.  
  
But the voice belonged to Remus. Anyway, he was the only one who could have sneaked up on her that silently. He stood next to her.  
  
"How late is it?" she asked.  
  
"Half past two," was the response. Justine sighed softly.  
  
"Sorry - seems like I've fallen asleep."  
  
Well - this wasn't the truth, actually. She just couldn't remember the last few hours. Time holes like this happened sometimes, though she had the feeling that time had actually passed. But what exactly had she been doing?  
  
Her feet weren't in the water anymore. Furthermore, she must have put on her shoes at some point. It couldn't be too long ago, though, as her feet were still quite cold.  
  
Perhaps that was because it was quite cold outside.  
  
She sat up and it hurt.  
  
"Are you coming?" asked Remus.  
  
"I'm coming, just a moment..."  
  
She rose. She would have fallen into the river again, probably, as she had been standing a bit too close to the edge of the footbridge when her head began to swim, but Remus held her, almost succeeding in getting them both soaked.  
  
What a hero.  
  
Although she couldn't see him grinning, she had come to know him well enough to be certain that he was. They stood idly for a moment and then...  
  
"I don't know about you, but I'm actually quite cold," he said, and grabbed her hand.  
  
Suddenly, she had to smile.  
  
"Somewhere deep at the bottom of your heart, you're just afraid of the dark, admit it," she said. He pulled at her hand and, finally, they were moving.  
  
"Right. That's probably because I can see what's hiding in the dark."  
  
"And that would be...?"  
  
Remus thought a while.  
  
"Um... a few owls, a few snails, bugs, elves, the usual," a short pause, "and furthermore... a few monsters up there in the tree, the thing that just flew over the village is probably a vampire, and there's a spider building a nest in your hair." Justine stared at him and her eyes widened.  
  
"Then do something. Please." She grabbed his hand tighter.  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"Just kidding."  
  
"Oh," she said and stared down.  
  
"Do spiders actually build nests?" she asked a minute later.  
  
"No idea."  
  
They walked without words for a while until they could see the hut. It wasn't lit, and Justine would probably have passed without seeing it, but that was what having a werewolf as company was for.  
  
"So, how is the outer world doing?" she asked finally when they had arrived at the door.  
  
"I don't know exactly. Sirius just told me that You-Know-Who is committing the usual terror acts, but he isn't planning anything big at the moment. But I don't think they are telling those newspaper people everything."  
  
Justine was the first to vanish into the bathroom.  
  
"Doesn't quite sound as if they knew what they were doing," she called through the shut door.  
  
(Looked at in the light the lines on her arms were thin and red and still slightly swollen, but they hadn't been bleeding)  
  
"As if they've ever known." Remus sounded slightly pessimistic.  
  
Justine undressed and stepped under the tiny shower. There was only cold water in this hut, but on the other hand, she should try to concentrate on the positive aspects of life for a change, for example...  
  
For example...  
  
Er...  
  
She gave up and tried to finish showering before being frozen completely - a ritual that was being repeated every night… only why, and for whom? Justine stepped out of the shower and slipped on the tiles, only rescued by the towel-rail.  
  
Compact, this bathroom was, and cramped.  
  
Such an easy question, such an insignificant response... she had to leave and see what was up by herself.  
  
She waked Remus, who had fallen half asleep in the meantime, and asked herself whether he knew that she would be gone the next day.  
  
Neither of them noticed that somebody had been in the hut. 

***

_July 23rd, 1977_  
  
When she woke up, she was alone, just like every morning in the past year. It was early; the sun had just risen. Justine got dressed and stepped out to the meadow.  
  
She would have loved a spectacular sunrise, just like those in every penny dreadful. But instead of red, the world was grey, like every other day, and still she went to the middle of the meadow, her gaze raised upwards to the sky, for she thought the rain in her face could give her a feeling of a new beginning, or at least feel like real rain, not like something that only looked like rain, sounded like rain and was wet and cold as rain. She thought it could arouse a feeling, any feeling, the certainty that there still was an outer world and that she was still alive and feeling and breathing, but the rain couldn't do that, for she wasn't alive and feeling. Not anymore.  
  
She stood in the meadow for maybe half an hour, and didn't get a response, and she looked down, disappointed by the rain and the sky, and Disapparated.

***

It didn't take more than five seconds to cross both rooms of the hut. Jerome's hopes of finding her died very quickly.  
  
She wasn't there.  
  
A sick obsession, that was what Felicia had called it.  
  
A pointless waste of time - that was how Voldemort referred to it. Even if he didn't know what this was all about. But how were those two to understand his determination if he himself didn't know where it was coming from? That strange conviction that the traitor was still alive? He had found his final evidence only the other night - he had discovered the hut, had searched it, had seen both. And had Disapparated, hoping to meet her alone the next day.  
  
She ought to have died that night, one year ago. He and Felicia had been allowed to decide on their own. Well, she should have died, or been sent to Azkaban, they thought they had made sure of that. They hadn't planned onher survival, and her being free at that. And if Voldemort found out...  
  
It would be most unpleasant.  
  
He searched the hut a second time, more carefully, looked into the bathroom, under the bed, into the wardrobe. Nobody. He stepped outside the door. He would come back the next day, and then she would be there -  
  
But she was there.  
  
She was standing in the middle of the meadow and staring upwards as if she was searching for something. He looked up as well - but there wasn't anything.  
  
He sneaked up on her - no problem on the soft grass. He got closer... he got close...  
  
And she Disapparated.  
  
***  
  
James felt strangely, absolutely, horribly confused. Why was Lily here? What was she doing in the cellar? Why hadn't she contacted him when he had asked for it?  
  
Those thoughts in mind, he was following the footsteps - he was still able to hear them, far away. It wasn't easy, though, for the Hogwarts dungeons had a strong echo.  
  
In fact, he could only guess where the sound was coming from. Once again he turned around a corner, just to realize a second later he must have chosen the wrong way.  
  
"And you're sure you know where you're going, right?" asked Severus, who, admittedly, hadn't contributed much to finding the way.  
  
"Funny, really. I'd say she's gone... down this staircase." The odds weren't bad. Fifty-fifty, to be exact, as there were two staircases in this room.  
  
"She can't have gone that deep down," murmured Severus, "there's absolutely nothing." James looked at him with mild astonishment.  
  
"How do you know that?" he asked.  
  
"Because you don't even put toilets six storeys below the ground, let alone anything important," answered Severus. Unless you want to hide something, added James silently.  
  
"Anyway," said Severus, "I have the impression we're wrong." Indeed. They looked at each other. It was deadly silent. James didn't like to admit it, but he began considering the possibility that Severus' remark, even if it was strongly exaggerated, might contain a grain of truth.  
  
Possibly, yes.  
  
They went upstairs.  
  
They went downstairs.  
  
And then there were the footsteps again, louder than ever. Severus smiled self-confidently and pointed down the corridor.  
  
"This way," he said.  
  
And the sound got even clearer - Lily's pace was, compared to James' and Severus', not too fast, so they were able to advance on her. They were going to catch up with her soon.  
  
They heard somebody stumble.  
  
That was so Lily, thought James, even on a thoroughly concreted car park she would manage to make out a single tree and run straight into it.  
  
There were no more footsteps.  
  
It was silent. Strange, that hadn't been planned. She must have stopped.  
  
They looked around the next corner. And the next corner. And the corner after it. Nothing.  
  
"What about 'this way'?" asked James. But for the first time Severus didn't seem sarcastic, looking just as puzzled as James was feeling.  
  
"Where is she?" asked James.  
  
"Stop asking rhetorical questions and think about what she wants down here."  
  
"That's about the only thing that's absolutely clear," murmured James, more to himself.  
  
"Clear?"  
  
"Have you ever heard a legend of the founders' connection with some jewels?"  
  
"Apart from the fact that Helga Hufflepuff always looks like an adorned Christmas tree in the portraits of them?"  
  
James sighed.  
  
"And there's me thinking you were well informed. Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."  
  
"Do you expect me to kneel down first?" James made a face.  
  
"Actually, no," he said with a strange expression. He turned the other way to walk back.  
  
"Hey, what about Evans?" called Severus. He didn't care much, but just for the record.  
  
"You're seeing her tomorrow, I bet... now move, we have to prepare some things."  
  
Severus took another route up.  
  
***  
  
When Lily finally realized that she had lost the map it was too late anyway. At first she had believed that the corridors and the light seemed familiar, but there were two problems. Firstly, most people don't remember a dream two years ago too clearly. Secondly, intuition wasn't worth anything if after every corner there was another corridor that looked just the same.  
  
For a dozen corridors and two storeys she hadn't heard any steps behind her. Strangely, though, they hadn't become fainter at all, nor had they moved off in another direction - Lily had simply stumbled (over something that, afterwards, had looked, smelled and felt like thin air), and then it had been silent.  
  
Too silent. Normally she would hear at least her own steps, wouldn't she? Her breath, too, and possibly even her heartbeat?  
  
Lily considered feeling for her pulse, just to assure herself that her heart was still beating. But she believed that if her feet were moving without making a sound, her heart could do it as well. There was no reason to check it.  
  
Besides, she was afraid to be wrong.  
  
Another corridor in front of her, a staircase at the end. It got darker.  
  
And although it didn't seem possible, it got even more silent.  
  
She went downstairs. She had left the part of the cellar with the carpets, the corridors built in bricks, the wooden staircases. Now everything looked as if it had been driven into the very rock. Her surroundings had lost their sharp edges, the steps were flat and worn out although she could not imagine that this part of Hogwarts had ever been visited regularly. The corridors weren't as broad as they had been before, now two people would have a hard time passing each other. Her way led to hardly any rooms, and there were few staircases, instead the ground had begun to fall off. The walls had lost their smoothness and had little holes in them. They felt raw and strangely warm under her hands.  
  
Lily couldn't have explained why she was still walking, as she had probably missed Rowena's grave by now. But there was nobody to ask such questions, so she was walking because she was walking.  
  
It didn't get colder.  
  
It got _warmer_.  
  
At some point, the air began to flicker, to burn in front of her eyes. Lily slowed down.  
  
She stopped.  
  
She held her hand in front of her eyes, as they hurt.  
  
She let her arm sink.  
  
And for a split second, a human shape flashed in front of her. Blindingly white, the arms raised as if in defence. A scream yelled through the corridors, echoing back and forth.  
  
Another step forwards, and everything was as it had been, the scream and its thousand echos, the one thousand screams, they stopped suddenly. The corridors wound left and right, unmistakably organic, as if Hogwarts was a being that had dug itself deep into the ground.  
  
As if it had roots.  
  
And yet, she was still walking on.  
  
And she stopped again for her feet were suddenly wet. Lily looked down and noticed that the ground was covered with water. It was steeper now and curved often. She had to be on a level with the Hogwarts lake now. She took a careful step forwards and found out she didn't like it, for the water wasn't clear, as in the lake outside, not warmed by the sunlight; it was pitch black and smelled putrid. Something was floating in it, and Lily bent down to take a look at it.  
  
It was a lily.  
  
She turned around.  
  
About twenty ghosts had gathered behind her.  
  
There were mainly women and children. Their clothes seemed ancient in more than one way - they were rags of undefined shapes and colours, nothing that Lily could connect to a certain time.  
  
But they were lacking the sense of floating so typical for ghosts - these figures seemed concrete, connected to the ground, in a most disturbing way. Lily took a step towards them.  
  
She blinked.  
  
Nobody was there.  


***

On to the lake?  
  
Back up?  
  
Sideways?  
  
Sideways.  
  
She chose a corridor on her left, one that was actually leading her slightly upwards. At least she wasn't wading through the water anymore. She had that, at least.  
  
And it was getting brighter the longer she walked. And it got colder as well. And she thought she had heard somebody taking a deep breath, right behind her. She did not turn around.  
  
In front of her, there was an open door with a heavy latch, but there had to be more to it than just mechanics.  
  
She wanted to shut it behind her and had to turn around to do so.  
  
For a split second she saw Dementors behind her, then only the wooden door. She turned around to face the room.  
  
Rowena was already there.  
  
  
"Hello Lily," she said. Lily didn't know how to begin, so she started to take the parchment out of her pocket. Before she could say anything, another scream resounded through the corridors, only farther away.  
  
The parchment fell to the ground.  
  
Rowena sighed. "Another innocent..." Suddenly she smiled. "Another innocent... those people seem to attract misfortune, don't they? That is..."  
  
Now one could hear steps. Steps that were advancing, fast. Rowena waited at the door.  
  
"Did you notice anything unusual on your way here?" she asked.  
  
"Unusual?"  
  
"I believe that's what I said."  
  
"Let me see... screams, a handful of ghosts who didn't stay long, a cellar that looks like a bloody mine, a few Dementors, and a white lily... but other than that..."  
  
"A white lily? That's bad, that's really bad..." Whomever the steps belonged to, they were coming closer. Gripping her wand, Rowena opened the door.  
  
Almost instantly another ghostly shape came in, followed by one of the Dementors.  
  
"Expecto Patronum," said Rowena, and white light came out of the tip of her wand, light that finally transformed into the shape of a bird of prey. The Dementor screamed - it sounded like a tortured animal - and yielded.  
  
Still breathing hard - since when did ghosts have to breath, anyway? - the ghost - a small man of perhaps forty years - passed Lily without taking any notice of her.  
  
"Milady..." said he and lowered his gaze. Lily realized that Rowena looked haughtier than before. She held her head up high and seemed tense.  
  
"Speak," said she.  
  
"Milady - some... beings have entered the castle."  
  
"I noticed that," said Rowena. "What are you going to do?"  
  
"Somebody must have let them in - with your allowance, Milady, I'm going to find and punish the traitor."  
  
"Then don't hesitate to do so. And we've got Veritaserum, use it. No more unfounded executions, please." Rowena gave him a sharp glance and the man seemed to become even smaller.  
  
"There's still something, Milady..." he said carefully.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"What spell did you use? It would be more effective than just running away... the people here, they don't want to run away anymore..." Rowena raised one eyebrow.  
  
"Later, Uric, later. Go now."  
  
The man nodded and left through the second door of the room.  
  
"What a waste of time," murmured Rowena. "It was Salazar who built the hidden entrances, he doesn't need anybody to open the door for him." She turned back to Lily for the first time. "Come with me."  
  
Lily picked up the parchment from the ground and was surprised when Rowena actually reached out for her hand and pulled her along with her, through the same door. Along another of those corridors, and then...  
  
Lily took a sharp breath.  
  
They were standing on a landing, about twenty metres above the ground of a huge vault. To their left, stone stairs led downwards. Her gaze followed them. Below her, there was...  
  
... a town.  
  
"The come from everywhere, and we've tried to provide each one with a home. The first ones came two years ago, and every week another dozen arrive." Rowena sighed. "The safest place in England - a joke. We're doing our best not to let them notice that some Dementors randomly find their way into the castle, that Red Caps have settled in a few parts of the dungeons, and that the Enemy has already attacked twice. Only few of them are able to fight. But tell me, why are you here?"  
  
Lily had been too busy watching the many-coloured tents and their thousands of inhabitants - there was a market-place, as well. A veritable town indeed. A thought came to her...  
  
"Is there a church as well?" Rowena looked at her in mild surprise.  
  
"Yes, two storeys above us. Perhaps they will teach about it in History of Magic - it's the one with the mosaic ceiling. Unfortunately, it will be profaned in one thousand years. Why are you here?"  
  
Lily was still holding the parchment.  
  
"Because...," she held it up, "I can't read it." Rowena understood.  
  
"Right," she said, "I will forget to tell you, won't I?" Lily looked carefully puzzled. Rowena seemed to be deep in thoughts for a while.  
  
"That's it," she murmured finally, "I've mixed up time again - come with me, to a more... neutral place."  
  
  
"Another one of those damn bloody lilies, and I'll scream."  
  
Rowena shrugged, searched for a lily-free spot on the ground and sat down.  
  
"It's not my fault," she said.  
  
Once again, the lake and its surroundings looked as if some god had tried to implement his kitschy imagination. The sun was setting in a most spectacular way, a soft breeze causing little ripples on the water which reflected the sunlight, and the same breeze whispering in the leaves of the weeping willow next to them.  
  
"You can try to rip them out, but they keep coming back. Two or three for each you destroyed. They are like weeds." She looked up at Lily. "Give the parchment to me." Lily did so. Rowena skimmed through the text.  
  
"Seems like there are dark times ahead. Bad Latin, very bad."  
  
"What does it mean, then?" asked Lily. Rowena did not answer, and Lily had to ask a second time.  
  
"Oh, the meaning is not important... it is a spell. Made for those who cannot cast the song charms." Rowena dug a slim dagger out of some fold of her robes and began cutting off some of the lilies. When she had collected about fifteen, she threw them into the water.  
  
"Speak the words and the jewels do the rest. But take care that Voldemort cannot lay his hands on them." Rowena slipped out of her shoes and put them next to each other, then she checked the water temperature with one toe.  
  
"It would be better if you found the third jewel, but you will not. It is too late, the Merpeople would not give it to you. Farewell." She stepped into the water and waded towards the middle of the lake.  
  
"Wait, how am I to get back?" Rowena turned around.  
  
"By foot. It is not far to Hogsmeade." She went on. Walking now seemed harder to her, the water was at her hips.  
  
"And what are you doing in the water?" Lily finally dared to ask.  
  
The sun was setting. Shadows spread. The water did not sparkle anymore. And Rowena turned her head for the last time.  
  
"It is the twenty-third of July, Lily. Time to die."  
  
  
She took one lily with her. Just in case this nightmare would be over some day, and just in case she still wanted to remember, then she could dry the flower.  
  
Lily had more than two hours until the Death Eaters' meeting. She did not have to hurry. She could go for a nice walk through the village, maybe visit the Three Broomsticks (or maybe not, as she did not have any money), she could settle on a nice bench, maybe shoot up one last time(stop - where had that thought come from?), take a deep breath and try to learn the spell by heart.  
  
Why did she doubt her survival?  
  
At this time of the night, most houses in Hogsmeade were still showing lights. Lily went along the main street - it led to the church. Two or three drops of water fell from the sky. Abruptly, Lily came to a halt.  
  
She could have remembered, of course, where this street was also leading.  
  
_ Her_ house. The same dark roughcasting, the same number of storeys, the same ivy as always. Only the garden looked even untidier, and the Ministry of Magic had barricaded the front garden (the cordon had been there for more than a year now and looked accordingly ragged by now) and there were no lights. At the top, it seemed that someone had thrown a stone through the window, only the remainder of the jagged glass was still in the frame.Other than that, everything looked the same.  
  
She wanted to turn around, wanted to take another road. The problem was - Hogwarts had only two roads. One lay in front of, the other behind the house.  
  
And didn't she want to stay here, anyway?  
  
She sat down on the low garden fence, the door at her back. She saw lightning. She heard the thunder, not too far away. A thunderstorm, she thought to herself, and congratulated herself upon her skills of deduction.  
  
She wasn't aware that somebody had followed her.  
  
***  
  
"Careful" and "paranoid" are two different things. Or so James had always thought. Until he had met a man who just would not acknowledge the subtle difference.  
  
"Yes, Alastor, I'm sure Lily isn't among You-Know-Who's followers," said James irritably**.** A man - and a whole damn so-called order influenced by him.  
  
"But we haven't got any evidence against it, as usual. Have we?" Moody added. James wished he was far, far away,  
  
"Her parents are - were - Muggles. Killed by Death Eaters not long ago, by the way. That doesn't make it seem very likely." James could not remember how often he had tried to explain this, but decided one more time could not hurt.  
  
"Still... we can't have her moving around the castle as long as there are doubts. Especially in these times."  
  
"I'll go and look for her again," offered James. If only he still had the map - but it had been lost for more than a year. They had wanted to give it to the next generation, but the Marauders' lack of organization skills was widely known.  
  
Dumbledore joined them. He let it look spontaneous, but James supposed he had been listening to the conversation from the beginning.  
  
"What will we do about Evans?" asked Moody instantly.  
  
"I'll send Mr Filch to look for her as soon as he's arrived here. He knows the cellar of Hogwarts better than any other person." Dumbledore ignored the fact that both men wanted to say something and left.  
  
James gritted his teeth. Actually, it was important that he found her before she could do anything thoughtless. Which she was actually able to do - what else could she want in the dungeons, if not one of those crystals?  
  
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he would find her.  
  
  
And, just as every other night, a bended, lean figure walked through the corridors of Hogwarts. Very early that day, he had begun his work up in the towers, and then he had started working his way downwards. The silence caused by the absence of a thousand students sounded like music in the man's ears, and thus he did not mind walking through the deserted corridors day after day, wiping the shining clean ground and cutting any contacts with other living beings down to a minimum.

This day wasn't different. The new order was probably just another of Dumbledore's occupational therapies...  
  
But the cellar smelled different. He stopped and sniffed. It smelled like...  
  
...like students.  
  
The cat that could always be found near him turned bravely around a corner and mewed suddenly. Filch followed her and discovered -  
  
A piece of parchment. On the ground.  
  
On _his_ ground.  
  
Carefully, he picked it up. Something was written on it. He took his reading glasses out of the pocket of his overalls and read.  
  
_ Mssrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs..._  
  
Filch's hands almost let go of the map of their own volition. What now?  
  
How dare the Marauders have their devotional objects still lying around one year after their graduation, anyway?  
  
Filch pulled on a pair of dragon hide gloves - intended for the use of Mrs Skower's Magical Mess Remover - and carried the parchment carefully to his office, holding it at the very end. He locked it in the drawer with the label_Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_ - forever, or so he hoped,  
  
  
The caretaker had not found her. Somehow Severus was not too surprised.  
  
He couldn't remember how often he had already checked each of Hogwart's entrances today. At least those he knew of, and they were not few.  
  
Perhaps he should just give up this job. Frankly, he was rubbish at spying. Either Evans was still in the cellar, or far away. But the others were already searching the cellar, so, of course, he had been left with everyone's least favourite job.  
  
The day was nearing its end. The sun began to set.  
  
Severus started to doubt the point of his actions. He walked around the castle once more. In less than an hour he would have to leave anyway - there would be one of those infamous Death Eater meetings.  
  
Something was moving, down by the lake. Severus frowned. In the meantime it had become too dark to see anything that far away. It took him a while to consider whether or not to leave his post, but, after giving himself a sharp mental slap, he decided to have a go at it. After all, he wanted to know what was going on with those jewels.  
  
Having arrived at the lake, the first things he noticed were a round dozen of white lilies swimming in the water, towards the middle and a strange, turquoise glimmer that seemed to be coming from somewhere in the depths.  
  
But the lake was very old and very magical - if it had decided to shine a little bit tonight, Severus would be the last one to complain. He followed Evans instead, who had almost completely left his field of vision.  
  
She was not fast, so it was easy to follow her. In the meantime, he asked himself how she could have left the castle without passing him. There were only two possibilities: by Apparating, which was impossible (he, too, had read _Hogwarts: A History_), or the secret passage leading to the cellar of Honeydukes. In that case, why had she come back to the lake?  
  
It began to drizzle softly. Once again. There was also the rumble of thunder, far away, but Severus hoped the thunderstorm would pass them. He had never been too fond of flashes of lightning and thunder, to put it lightly.  
  
Severus was trying not to be seen by Evans, so he almost passed the house she had entered. Seeing the house didn't ring any bells for him, but it looked deserted, tumbledown. He thought the cordon had probably been put there for a reason, even if it was now slightly rotten.  
  
He waited just where he had stopped. She had to leave the house some time.  
  
***  
  
_ "B - B - Brother...," said the third one, well hidden in his corner of the drawer.  
  
"What is it?" asked the first one, as a flash of lightning was reflected by the red crystal in his hand. It almost looked like... blood.  
  
Blood... his nostril trembled. Maybe... maybe soon...  
  
"I heard s - s - something. I th - think I did."  
  
Maybe even... now?  
  
"What have you heard?" asked the first one. He liked what he was looking at. He would keep it.  
  
"S - s -..." the third one tried to say. The first one's ears turned in his direction.. "S - s - something!" he finally completed.  
  
"It's only thunder, brother."_  
  
***  
  
It was raining.  
  
Probably good for the lilies. Still, _this_ Lily began to think about looking for a place where she would not get wet. She supposed it was possible to save the world completely soaked, but she didn't want to be the one to try that.  
  
Where could she go?  
  
She could go into the house.  
  
A part of Lily's mind - the part that was still able to think logically - told her, of course, that it was not one of her best ideas. She could do without a nervous breakdown right now.  
  
But unfortunately that part lost the inner discussion. The house was still calling to her - pulling at her thoughts with invisible fingers, inviting her. It promised dryness, perhaps even a bit of warmth.  
  
Seconds later, she was standing in the doorway.  
  
***  
  
_ "B - B - Brother!" Now all three could hear it.  
  
Between the thunder and the ringing of the church bells - it was ten o'clock now - one could hear steps. Steps that were moving in their direction.  
  
The first one laid the jewel onto the table. The second one jumped out of his drawer and woke the third one. The first one got his dagger, weighing it with one hand, then sharpening it hastily one last time.**  
  
*****_

Still, the door was open. Still, the light of the street lanterns fell into the corridor. On the floor, Lily could see a piece of wood. She picked it up.  
  
A wand, one of those that were given to children so that they could make their own light and get used to it. One of those whose light faded after only a few minutes.  
  
"Lumos," she whispered. The wand reacted a bit hesitantly, as if it had not been used for a long time (which was probably the case). But then, its tip began to glow and a faint light fell into the corridor.  
  
Where?  
  
Upstairs, whispered a voice not inside her head, there it was dry, there it was warm, there the house had prepared something for her.  
  
Lily had never felt as tired as she did now, otherwise she probably would not have followed the advice of strange voices.  
  
Upstairs, only following that strange feeling.  
  
She could hear the sound of a door closing, one storey above her.  
  
Lily stopped.  
  
Perhaps her common sense would have won and she had would have left the house, if her common sense had not told her that the entrance door was open and a window in the third storey was broken, that there was a strong wind blowing and therefore...  
  
She walked on.  
  
Three storeys.  
  
***

_ Is it here?  
  
Further downstairs.  
  
How slow they are, those humans..._  
  
***

Was she still here? Or already gone?  
  
Twenty-one stairs to the first floor. Seventeen each to the second and third one. She had counted them, some hundred years ago. Wondering whether it was still like that.  
  
And there she stood in the second storey and realized she had been living with a lie for all those years - it was sixteen. Outside the air was dancing with the rain to the rhythm of the thunder and the echoing beating of the church clock.  
  
And it was not even midnight.  
  
How pitiful.  
  
The light of the wand began to fade.  
  
Lily got more and more tired. Why bother calling "Lumos" if the flashes did the job? Only one storey to go.  
  
She felt like sitting down in some corner and crying.  
  
But there was something up there. Something beautiful. Something that would comfort her. Maybe.  
  
Fourteen - fifteen - sixteen - there. She remembered having run up these stairs faster than now, one year ago.  
  
Would the blood still be there?  
  
She threw the wand away. It was still glowing, very faint, as bright as the tip of a lit cigarette, one hundred metres away.  
  
Only one step at a time. She would arrive soon enough. And -  
  
(And time stopped and she stopped, too, and she heard a scream and she saw somebody screaming and saw into a ghostly pair of eyes -)  
  
And she walked on. One door to go.  
  
It opened easily.  
  
It had not opened that easily before.  
  
She glanced into the room and saw nothing until it was lit by a flash of lightning. Until the flash of lightning lit three figures that seemed to come directly from a nightmare. Three distorted faces. Three daggers.  
  
_ Evil little creatures that live in places where blood has been spilled._ Liens voice, in some boring class.  
  
Those caps, they dyed them with blood... and when the blood had dried...  
  
And when the blood had dried...  
  
They searched for a new victim.  
  
Redcaps.   
  



	12. The Final Curtain

A/N - Yes, it's here, the last chapter of Liliacea. Before you all yell at me - I know that translating this has taken me more time than it should have. Hell, I know the whole story has taken me more time than it should have. Maybe there'll be a sequel, maybe not.  
  
kitty29 - thanks! Glad you liked it.  
  
Quack Quack 88 - taking eight months to update doesn't qualify as "as soon as you can", does it? Sorry about that. I greatly appreciated your reviews.  
  
RupertGurlForever - I take that as a compliment :)  
  
Naru Taru - danke. Aber wir haben ja schon drüber geredet. Max Goldt schon gelesen?  
  
Alex - this is an R-rated angst story with the warning "R for violence, suicide, self-abuse". Why anyone would read twelve chapters and then complain about the amount of darkness when the themes are clearly stated in the summary is completely beyond me. Thanks for your honest opinion, though, I will try to work out a better plot next time. I would also suggest that you try to be constructive - that way, writers might begin to take you more seriously.  
  
This chapter was beta-read by DragonFire. Thank you! After all those notes, I feel so immensely thankful right now. Wonder what it would be like if there were even more people to say thank you to? That means you, dear readers :)  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement intended.  
  
Liliacea 13 - The Final Curtain  
  
Music was playing in the leaves of the trees, the wind was tearing at her cloak, the angels sang Hallelujah, the rising sun coloured the world majestically red, the whole world vibrated in one deep breath and Justine made her first step into freedom.  
  
Or something along those lines.   
  
It happened on a hazy morning. The air was a blanket, not moving at all, covering everything in silence and humidity. And her freedom was no freedom, since she only returned to a place she had hated even then in all its narrowness.  
  
She had Apparated on a field-path, a hundred metres away from the village. Just before the last turn Justine came to a halt, leaning on a wall. She could hear voices.  
  
She should have known that there were still people on this earth, apart from Remus and her. But hearing voices after one year... hearing Mrs Andersen, her neighbour, talking to somebody only a few metres away...  
  
That had been the advantage of her unusual hair colour - if one was always referred to as "the one with the green hair", people did not bother remembering other distinguishing marks. Now, as she had lost her most obvious trait, and as she was also _dead_, with grave and tombstone and everything- people were stupid, they would not recognize her, rather believe in a mistake. Still, she lowered the hood of her robe, even though the movement painfully reminded her of the good old times. But maybe she should get used to that, anyway.  
  
She took a careful step around the corner. There were perhaps four or five people on the village street, but it seemed to Justine as if she was looking at a crowded fair. A curiosity cabinet**, **to be exact, for she felt that all attention was directed towards her. Oh, they did not stare directly at her, but those quick, curious glances over the shoulder - she knew those from school. She lowered her head, trying to hide her face in the hood. But still...  
  
She hurried along the street and mused that, although her energy had been enough to lead her away from Ireland, she still did not have a destination. Not a place, not a person.  
  
Nothing.  
  
***  
  
Somebody must have forgotten to take away the cordon around the church. As far as Justine could remember, the attack on the wedding had already been in the Daily Prophet a week ago. She did not complain much, however; at least this meant she had the church to herself.  
  
The bunches of white lilies decorating the church had withered since the photos had been taken, and emitted a heavy scent that seemed to drown the mind rather than the senses. Colourful light was shining through large windows,its cheerful artifice a suggestion that nothing really belonged here - the lilies, the light, herself.  
  
Her childhood's Jesus was still hanging on his cross. Many, many years ago he had frightened her, later he had become a silent friend. Now, he seemed further away than ever. He seemed disappointed. He had been dying on the cross for years, but he was not dying for her any longer.  
  
She was cold, but it did not make a difference. She had always been cold. She wrapped the lent robe tighter around her body and sat down on a bench near the exit, where she perhaps would not be tempted to seek Jesus' glance, only to meet his disappointment instead.  
  
She would have loved to stay here forever, but the little voice of reason kept telling her it was time to make a decision.  
  
And to make it soon.  
  
***  
  
She remembered having spent a whole day in this church. It had been a summer day, just like today, but much, much warmer. She had sneaked away from home before breakfast and gone for a long walk through the grounds, until the heat had made any movement impossible. She had not wanted to go home yet, instead she had come here, into the cool shadows, the only peaceful place in Hogsmeade.  
  
And then she had fallen asleep and had slept until the evening, when the sun had already been setting, and she had been freezing. Guiltily, she had walked home - a confrontation had been unavoidable, she knew. She had been eleven then.  
  
Several people had, at some point, asked her why she slept at Hogwarts although her family lived in Hogsmeade, and they had all received different answers, depending on her mood and the degree of friendliness towards the person in question. Sometimes it had been her parents, who had been absent most of the time, sometimes the fact that the library was at Hogwarts, or a (made up) grandmother who was an ex-Ravenclaw and rather sentimental. The truth was much more banal. She had carried her books from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts and back for four years. At some point, she had run away one too many times, therefore missing lessons, until the headmaster himself had intervened.  
  
(she wasn't eleven, she wouldn't fall asleep, she couldn't fall asleep, she would have to decide... soon...)  
  
The sun had dipped remarkably lower -  
  
- Justine was startled -  
  
- where had the hours gone? -  
  
- and it was cloudy outside, as it had been since the morning, but no, _ it was hot and very bright, just as many years ago, and she had just arrived here, tired from walking, and the cold wood of the benches felt icy under her hands which had absorbed the sun, as had the rest of her body. And she had just sat down here, tired, so tired..._  
  
It wasn't much, actually. Just the feeling of pebbles under her naked feet, and she knew she had finally arrived before she even opened her eyes.  
  
The sun shone bright, a blinding white in her eyes, with the appearance of being far warmer than it actually was.  
  
It looked like a photo, she thought abstractly, a badly overexposed photo**.**  
  
She had been here before, three years - she counted them on her fingers - ago. She had been reborn here, or maybe it had only felt that she had. The sea was still there and would always be there.  
  
She turned around.  
  
A short moment, time frozen - blue eyes, a smile, and then - she.  
  
Justine laughed.  
  
And than a thought sneaked into the dream world -  
  
Pity it was over now.  
  
  
  
There was no coloured light now that it was evening. She appeared to have slept, and she was freezing - just like then. As if time had got the hiccups. She was no nearer to a solution now than she had been then.  
  
The thought made it all the more important that she did something.  
  
Justine rose and left the church.  
  
***  
  
Severus had been waiting in front of the house for several minutes. What, for heaven's sake, could Evans want in there? No light could be seen, a few windows were shattered, the garden had grown unkempt - this house appeared to have been deserted for at least one year.  
  
Evans was being rather impolite, letting him wait here while she was discovering the house, even if she admittedly couldn't know she was being accompanied. Or followed. But it all benefited her safety; even if no one had bothered telling Severus why she was so bloody important.  
  
Sometimes, Severus felt as if they did not really trust him.  
  
Especially, Severus felt that _James_ did not really trust him.  
  
He stepped from one foot to the other. If only she would come out through that door, now...  
  
The drizzle became rain.  
  
Subtlety was one thing, but Severus did not see why he should get himself soaked while...  
  
He stepped into the house. At once, he spotted thick layers of dust everywhere. He could make out Evans' foot traces on the stairs, as well as smaller ones, of animals, or magical beings.  
  
Perhaps there was something in this house, after all.  
  
Somebody screamed upstairs.  
  
Uh oh.  
  
He did not want to meddle with anything right now, especially not the sort of anything that preferred to settle in old, deserted houses and attack people in dark and stormy nights. Furthermore, he could not care less about Evans. On the other hand...  
  
There was trust to regain. And Slytherins could be gentlemen, if they wanted to.  
  
Severus stormed upstairs.  
  
***  
  
In the light of a DADA classroom, a Redcap tended to look pretty harmless. They never reached taller than knee-high to a witch, even if the witch was Lily, who could not exactly be called tall. They had brown skin, pointed ears and a face like teddy bears, usually viewed through a jar of preservative formaldehyde.  
  
Add two rows of sharp teeth, six-inch-long daggers and the fact that they could move, multiply all this by three and you know what your teachers haven't told you.  
  
Fortunately, these three did not seem to be blessed with intelligence. A frontal attack was obviously the only tactic that didn't confuse them, and thus Lily had managed to reach the end of the narrow corridor, keeping the Redcaps at distance with a wooden chair from Justine's room. They took turns in bouncing at her, reminding her of children's toys gone mad.  
  
Her tactic wasn't any more effective, though, as the little monsters' kinetic energy alone had been enough to damage the chair. They had wounded her, too, on the upper arm, but it wasn't that bad. That was only to be expected if one tried to save the world. Now she at least looked the part.  
  
She had to admit, though, that her goal was far away right now. She couldn't stand here forever, and these mutated toys didn't seem to get tired at all. In her next life, Lily planned to pay attention in all her DADA lessons like a good girl, so that she would know how to defend herself in situations like this.  
  
Although, that knowledge would be pretty theoretical without a wand, anyway.  
  
Damn it, she should really pay attention. All that was left from the chair in her hands was a broken chair-leg, the rest lying in useless pieces on the floor. She shrieked as another dagger cut through the skin on her arm, but again, her luck had been better than her defending abilities.  
  
If she didn't think of a solution, fast... she could resort to locking herself in the bathroom and fleeing through the window, but... she didn't have a rope... and there were three toy monsters between her and the bathroom. Not her best idea.  
  
A bolt of lightning struck near the house, bathing the corridor in harsh light.  
  
There was somebody at the other end.  
  
Lily was shocked enough that the next attack hit the remaining wooden stick out of her hands. She cursed loudly and dirtily.  
  
The person near the stairs cleared his throat.  
  
***  
  
Justine McKinnon  
  
1958 - 76  
  
In actuality, she had expected a collapse, or something equally spectacular. But there was nothing. There were tombstones bearing the names of her family. There was her own tombstone, bearing her own name. But there was nothing she would have wanted to say. Maybe because the tombstone only affirmed what she had known for years.  
  
There was only one she did not dare looking at. There was nothing she could have said. Hey, little brother, I'm sorry you never attended Hogwarts, I'm sorry you had to die, but I'm not better off. Or something like that.  
  
Surely not.  
  
She didn't belong here, this was the place for the happy McKinnon family that happened to have been murdered a year ago. This was the place for loving memory and things like that. Not a place for her.  
  
Through the rain and the dark, she could see a movement outside the graveyard.  
  
Justine pulled the hood more securely around her face and hurried to the exit.  
  
***  
  
Everything went silent when he said the first words. The Redcaps turned around to face him. Lily herself had her eyes fixed on Severus, even while getting down on her knees and picking up the chair leg. She looked more than surprised, but he hadn't expected anything else.  
  
The Redcaps should have been effected, perhaps would be at any moment... he could see fear on their faces already. Fear and... resignation. He had never tried this before, so he tentatively added another few verses. Something was bound to happen - it was probably a good sign they weren't moving any more. He stopped.  
  
The Redcaps gave the appearance of thought for a long moment.  
  
Then they attacked Severus.  
  
Severus searched frantically for words... it had to continue somehow...  
  
Lily dashed towards him, striking at one of the furry beings that had attacked him. It fell to the ground.  
  
He found the words.  
  
The Redcaps fled down the stairs and out into the darkness. Yes, that had been the general idea.  
  
Severus felt Evans' eyes on him. Her gaze was measuring but amused, almost mocking him.  
  
Hey, that wasn't fair! He had just saved her life!  
  
" I don't think this is the right place or time for a love poem, Snape," she said as she made her way past him.  
  
Was she actually thinking her pathetic fumbling with the chair leg had scared the Redcaps into fleeing?  
  
"Evans, I thought people like you would know about things such as this. That was the High bloody Song of Salomon!"  
  
"The what?"  
  
"A bible quote, Evans. Used to banish Redcaps."  
  
"I'm an atheist and proud of it, thank you very much." Lily went down the stairs. Severus followed her. Considering the sorts of people who would be outside tonight, it seemed rather pointless to save her from the Redcaps only to let her wander around on her own.  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked when they reached the door. Lily looked at him, surprised. She hadn't expected that.  
  
"To the church," she said, only to see his reaction. His face showed mild desperation.  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea... anyway, the Order of the Phoenix would like a word with you. They are up at the castle, so if you would just..."  
  
Now Lily looked shocked.  
  
"The Order of the Phoenix? Snape, you... you are on the good side? "  
  
Severus concluded once again that he needed to work on his credibility.  
  
***  
  
"I have been wondering the same thing," a third voice said, seeming to come out of nowhere. Lily and Severus turned around in surprise.  
  
Lily's heart made a sudden jolt upwards.  
  
This was the woman from the station. There was no doubt. And all of a sudden, Lily wasn't convinced anymore that the pendant hadn't been visible the night before.  
  
Severus seemed to know her as well.  
  
"Felicia... I am surprised to see you this early."  
  
"The surprise is on my part, Severus." Felicia Lestrange didn't seem terribly interested in him, at all.  
  
"And you are Lily Evans." It wasn't a question. It rather sounded like an - order.  
  
Suddenly, the whole saving the world thing seemed rather questionable to Lily. She didn't say anything.  
  
"Severus, we won't need you tonight. Evans... you are to accompany me," she said in a voice that suggested that not following her order was a very bad idea.  
  
Snape's ideological beliefs grew more and more shady to her as well. To be on a first name basis with someone who might be a Death Eater and to obey her that willingly didn't strike her as exactly innocent behaviour.  
  
Felicia and she entered the church through the back entrance.  
  
***  
  
It was raining.  
  
The door was open.  
  
The door was open, and for a moment, Justine considered turning around and leaving. But - no.  
  
She would simply go in there, do what she had to do, and that would be it.  
  
She took a step forward. Nobody would be in there, absolutely nobody. It had happened a year ago, and the door - that could have been anybody. Maybe the same people who had smashed the window -  
  
- the window was broken? -  
  
vandals, -  
  
- her window was broken? -  
  
- drunkards, playing children, former school mates, birds doing kamikaze, Death Eaters... it could have been anybody.  
  
Nobody was waiting in there for her. They bloody thought her dead.  
  
Seeing her would probably convince them of the opposite, though.  
  
She couldn't go elsewhere. Not that she wanted to stay, but... it was raining. It wouldn't be that bad if she pulled herself together.  
  
Her family had died in this corridor. There was no trace of that anymore. No trace at all, but still - she climbed the stairs backwards, she knew how many steps there were. She had once fallen down part of them, had been fairly bruised -  
  
("Who made you fall?" Lien had asked)  
  
- when she finally couldn't see the corridor anymore, she dared to turn around.  
  
Her wretched sense of drama. She had half-expected to be faced with some figure clothed in black.  
  
No one there. And it was bloody dark.  
  
Still two storeys to go. She didn't want to go upstairs, actually. She wanted out of here, to the rain outside, in an instant.  
  
She would have to pass the corridor downstairs for that.  
  
She continued climbing the stairs. Suddenly, she realized she wouldn't be able to hear an intruder at all as the rain was far too loud. Great. As if it wasn't enough that she couldn't see anything.  
  
Having arrived in the corridor upstairs, she stepped on something. Her fingers identified it as a long wooden splinter. There were more of them.  
  
First room to the right. At the door, she stepped on something again, and again it was a piece of wood - a wand. Her little brother's toy wand.  
  
Justine was certain he had never laid it here.  
  
"Lumos," she whispered.  
  
She admitted it. She had expecting to see someone again, this time for real. Needless to say there wasn't anybody. But her room looked different from what she could remember from last time.  
  
Blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. And people, so many people...  
  
She stepped into the room. If only the damn thing was where it had been...  
  
Somebody screamed. The wand fell to the ground when she pressed her hands to her ears. Her own voice.  
  
Just an echo.  
  
Only the frame was left from the bed. She didn't look at it. Her gaze was fixed upon the walls. The wallpaper had been torn down in stripes. Small pits of parchment and fabric lay scattered on the floor, as well as twigs and leaves and things she didn't recognize.  
  
The walls were whispering.  
  
They were everywhere. Black robes. Daggers. Words. And fear.  
  
She dug her fingernails, as in reflex, into the skin of her forearms. It wasn't enough.  
  
Where was it? In a drawer of the desk, they had passed it a hundred times without knowing.  
  
It wasn't in there.  
  
But it had to be.  
  
She found it on the floor, between the bits and pieces, between the memories. The Gryffindor jewel.  
  
She put it into a pocket of her cloak. For a while, she just stood there, unable to move and listening to the whispers.  
  
It was cold in here. A hand touched her shoulder from behind.  
  
***  
  
She was shivering. The touch sent all too familiar fear through her body. And that scream, again, in her head.  
  
Slowly, he forced her to turn around until she could see his face.  
  
Jerome Lestrange.  
  
The whispering got louder. The walls came closer. They were there, they were all there. All five of them. Daggers. Blood. Words. And fear.  
  
Only he.  
  
Only he was there. Then had been then, and now was now. Only he.  
  
"I have been searching you for so long..."  
  
Words. Whispers.  
  
"And now, you have come to me."  
  
He was too close, far too close. She would prefer the cold of the night to the warmth of his body. She didn't want to have to recognize him as a human being. Did not want to have to feel his warmth.  
  
But this was what she wanted. This was why she was here. And he could take her where she wanted.  
  
If he hadn't finished with her already before then.  
  
***  
  
She had been rather lousily tied. Surprising. Only what seemed to be a spider thread and - well - eight Death Eaters between herself and the door kept Lily from getting up and leaving.  
  
Admittedly, it wasn't that easy after all.  
  
She had always imagined Death eater meetings different from this. More ceremonious foot kissing, more candles, less waiting. But maybe that was because the master hadn't arrived yet.  
  
Felicia and a few others were standing in the middle of the church and talking in low voices. Further Death Eaters were guarding the back entrances.  
  
They were all dressed in black. Their faces were hidden beneath their hoods, so Lily couldn't recognize anybody. But no one was as tall as the man Lily had seen at the station with Felicia.  
  
Jerome Lestrange was indeed still missing.  
  
Lily felt strangely calm, sitting in front of the altar, calmer than she should have been under these circumstances. Calmer than she would have been, had she been in her normal frame of mind.  
  
She was waiting.  
  
At some point, the church door opened, and another figure clad in black entered - no, not Voldemort, she realized after a tiny second of fear, even if no one in the magical community knew what Voldemort looked like exactly - it was the man from King's Cross. Jerome Lestrange, and a second, much smaller person. Lily didn't pay much attention to her.  
  
At least not until the figure was thrown to the ground next to her and tied to the altar in a similar way to Lily's.  
  
It wasn't exactly bright, so Lily couldn't make out many details. Small, thin, female, the hood had slipped off slightly. Dark, short, uncombed hair and -  
  
Justine.  
  
It was too dark to recognize anything. A whole year had passed, a year during which she had kept recognizing Justine in passing women. It couldn't be...  
  
It was Justine.  
  
Lily fumbled with her ties. They were stronger than she had thought.  
  
The girl opposite her opened her eyes, looking directly into hers, for a second.  
  
It was Justine.  
  
There were scars, on her hands, on her face, if you looked on them from a certain angle, very unobtrusive. There was...  
  
A room full of blood -  
  
"Too late..."  
  
There was her left hand, not moving.  
  
"Too late... Justine is dead..."  
  
She is dead...  
  
She was alive.  
  
***  
  
Justine was looking down, as if she didn't want to talk. So what. Lily believed she deserved some answers.  
  
"Justine," she whispered, watching her shivering under the sound of her name, but no further reaction.  
  
"Justine!"  
  
Justine lifted her head a bit.  
  
"Where have you been?"  
  
A whole year, there was so much to tell, so much... and nothing to say.  
  
"Ireland."  
  
Silence. She had dug her hands into her pockets, as if she was hiding something in there.  
  
"Why are you here?" Justine asked after a while.  
  
"I don't know. To save the world. To get revenge. The usual."  
  
"He has already won, Lily. You can't do anything." And she averted her eyes.  
  
This wasn't enough. This was not an answer.  
  
"Justine -"  
  
Again, not so much as a visible reaction. Lily thought about her next words.  
  
Tell me, Justine, was it you who killed my best friend? So, how did that sound?  
  
Did she even want to know?  
  
"What is it?" came the response after a while.  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
Justine didn't look at her, but instead at some point behind her.  
  
"I -" her voice cracked. Lily could hear the screeching of the heavy wooden door.  
  
"He's coming," whispered Justine.  
  
***  
  
Lily analysed her emotions and came to the conclusion they didn't do the situation justice. As a woman, she should probably faint now - possibility one. As a Muggleborn, she should probably run away screaming - possibility two. As a Gryffindor, she should - well, she didn't know exactly, but it probably included the words "heroic" and "without thinking" - possibility three.  
  
Still - a little voice inside her, one of those that probably came from some place in her subconscious, told her the Dark Lord didn't look much different from his Death Eaters. Maybe a little taller, maybe a little thinner. but those flowing black hooded cloaks didn't exactly support great optical diversity.  
  
Was it a sacrilege, actually, not respecting one's enemies?  
  
She supposed it was. Once more, Lily felt for the amulet beneath her pullover. It was still there.  
  
She felt a little uneasy, but it wasn't a Death-Eaters-have-tied-me-to-an-altar kind of uneasy. Rather, it was the kind of uneasiness that occurred just when you were about to drink that glass of wine that you later found out was too much. A kind of drunkenness.  
  
She watched the scenario for a while and came to the conclusion that her former expectations of a Death Eater meeting had been justified after all. Well, other than the candlelight.  
  
And the foot kissing, too, was a bit on the metaphorical side of things.  
  
But what really convinced her of Voldemort's power was that he didn't need little games like that. He merely nodded at two of his Death Eaters, and they were ready to obey his wishes.  
  
They headed straight towards her.  
  
This was probably the moment for acting heroically and without thinking, as she had already dismissed the former two possibilities.  
  
On the other hand, the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting her into Hufflepuff.  
  
Lily closed her eyes and tried recalling the incantation. Her concentration was interrupted, though, when Felicia and Jerome Lestrange freed Justine from her ties with a spell and brought her to her feet. She was brought before Voldemort.  
  
"Justine McKinnon," he said, and for the first time, Lily heard his voice. It left the impression of a half frozen lake - icily cold, slippery and tricky - but it was human. Very surprisingly so.  
  
They were standing a good distance away. Lily had to listen hard to understand anything.  
  
Justine was bent over, speaking too low.  
  
They were interrupted by the door, screeching once again. Voldemort raised his head.  
  
"What is it?" he called, and another black-cloaked figure entered, along with yet another hostage.  
  
"This one has been spying on us outside. He won't say anything, but I expect he's from the Order, my Lord."  
  
A rather dazed looking James Potter was tied to the altar next to Lily. The Death Eater stared at the hostages.  
  
"Silence," he said.  
  
"Give me one reason to let you live," Voldemort continued his conversation. Justine hadn't moved. She didn't answer, just reached into the pocket of her cloak.  
  
A second before it happened, Lily knew what she was going to pull out.  
  
Justine stretched out the hand with the jewel - the glowing, blood-read Gryffindor jewel.  
  
If Voldemort was taken by surprise, he didn't show it. He took the jewel from her.  
  
"Where are the other two?"  
  
James cursed under his breath.  
  
"If I didn't know that he can't use them..." Lily began. The Death Eater guarding them was much too distracted by the jewel.  
  
James seemed a little uneasy.  
  
"Well, Lily, there's something you don't know yet," he responded. Lily didn't like his tone.  
  
"You-Know-Who isn't a Pureblood. We only found out his true identity a few months ago."  
  
"What do you mean, he isn't a Pureblood?" Lily hissed, "that'd mean..."  
  
"Yeah. He can use it. Probably more effectively than we would ever have managed. Fortunately he can only lay his hands on one of them."  
  
Now it was Lily's turnto feel uneasy. James seemed to notice.  
  
"Lily, is there something you haven't told me yet?"  
  
Lily cursed.  
  
Meanwhile, Voldemort had finished his conversation. And he seemed to have decided against an immediate execution of Justine. She pulled the hood over her face - looking like any other bloody Death Eater - and retreated into the shadows.  
  
Again, Voldemort didn't give an order, yet two Death Eaters were heading towards her. And this time, Lily was under the impression they really meant her.  
  
She only had one advantage over Voldemort - she knew how to use this weapon. That is if she could trust Rowena. Which she didn't.  
  
The benefits outweighed the risks. Lily began murmuring the words as they freed her from the ties and pulled her into a standing position.  
  
"Lily, what are you doing?" James hissed. Then realisation dawned upon his face.  
  
"Wait, two minutes, one minute... damn it." Lily was out of earshot. And James received a rather hard kick to his side. He looked up and into Felicia Lestrange's face.  
  
"Silence," she said.  
  
Lily was still murmuring the words when she finally faced Voldemort.  
  
He had red eyes.  
  
Where was the bloody text?  
  
Ah yes.  
  
Voldemort said something, but Lily didn't understand. She was too preoccupied with the heavy weight that suddenly seemed to pull on her neck. Lily took out the amulet.  
  
The yellow Hufflepuff crystal apparently had ambitions of becoming a new sun. It was glowing, just like the red jewel in Voldemort's hands.  
  
Voldemort seemed to understand. He, too, began uttering words, only his were much more powerful.  
  
He would win.  
  
The two jewels were now illuminating the whole church - the church that had been, the church that would be - as if time had become a visible dimension. Lily saw things she would never have wanted to see.  
  
The withering wedding decoration of white lilies suddenly seemed -  
  
- bloodstained?  
  
She was nearing the end of the incantation. Something had to happen. It was probably a good sign that Voldemort hadn't killed her yet.  
  
The last word - and suddenly, the yellow jewel sprang out of the setting to rise high into the air, closely followed by the red one. Their light was brighter than ever before. And in her head, Lily could hear a soft whispering, reminding her of a child that was fed up with a particular game, and the voice said -  
  
"Never again."  
  
The jewels vanished into thin air.  
  
Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Justine and James were staring at her.  
  
Lily cursed again.  
  
The Death Eaters began to stir. They advanced on her, their wands raised, obviously waiting for their master's command.  
  
Just one more second...  
  
James smiled.  
  
Wizards Apparated all over the church.  
  
Aurors.  
  
***  
  
Most Death Eaters had Disapparated before they could be taken as prisoners - actually, all but one. An Auror had Stunned her before she could flee. After Barty Crouch and two others had brought her to the Ministry, there wasn't much left to do for the Aurors. They left, not without renewing the cordon, and made place for the normal Ministry officials, leaving them to put up with the onlookers and journalists.  
  
"I assure you, by no means has a ritual sacrifice of endangered animals taken place," an official tried to explain to a platinum blonde journalist for the umpteenth time.  
  
His hair was very red.  
  
James led Lily away from the tumult.  
  
"No, not even non-endangered animals," they heard when the official raised his voice exasperatedly to make himself understood in the mess.  
  
"What is it, James?" asked Lily when they had been walking for a while.  
  
"I thought we could talk a bit. About what you've been doing that past year, things like that," said James.  
  
"Did the Ministry send you?"  
  
"Mere curiosity." Her eyes thinned when she looked at him.  
  
"Hey, just trust me. Please."  
  
They were coming closer to that lake again. It glowed faintly turquoise - what a triumph, Rowena, thought Lily. She pulled a bit at James' sleeve, changing the direction. Away from here.  
  
James searched the pocket of his suit.  
  
"Cigarette?" he asked.  
  
"Thanks, but I've quit."  
  
They didn't say anything for a while, and kept on walking until they couldn't see the village anymore.  
  
"It's over, Lily," he said. She didn't respond until he began to ask himself whether she had actually understood him.  
  
"This isn't a movie. Nothing's over. The heroes aren't heroes, they don't save the world, nothing makes sense whatsoever, and..." She paused, took the cigarette from his mouth and inhaled deeply.  
  
"...And there isn't a script. Sorry for talking so much nonsense."  
  
James stared at the cigarette in her hands.  
  
"Sorry, bad habit of mine."  
  
He smiled weakly.  
  
"Is it at least philosophically correct to say this part's over?" he asked.  
  
"It bloody well ought to," Lily murmured. There was another long pause.  
  
"What do you think they're going to do with Justine?" she asked at some point. James sighed.  
  
"I have no idea," he said. There were thousands of possibilities - but Barty Crouch always managed to reduce those thousands to only one. Still, he didn't have to tell her now.  
  
Lily glanced upwards, to the stars. Friends.  
  
"It can't be the end," she said again.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It'd be a damn lousy one."  
  
***  
  
Epilogue  
  
The day had gone by, and the night had come. The night had always been there, and it would never end. Unimaginable - the sun ever rising again, in a place like this?  
  
Her world consisted of shadows. Shadows around her, shapeless, space consuming. Shadows beyond the door, passing by, lingering on. Shadows inside.  
  
Her world consisted of sounds, of heartbeats, the drawing of breath, dripping water. Of fingernails scratching on skin, again and again. Of the steps of those who had to supply their prison mates with nourishment or water. Often, those steps would just stop, when someone would stay behind at a corner, standing there until they were dragged back into their cell, when someone would just collapse by a corridor wall and cry, while spilling the water.  
  
Her world consisted of a song someone sang in the next cell, one line or two at a time, only to grow silent again.  
  
She believed she looked in the general direction of the cell door, but wasn't sure. She wasn't sure whether she had opened her eyes or not. She stared into the blackness and tried to concentrate on not thinking, for thinking drew them closer.  
  
Her eyes were, in fact, open, for she could see movement.  
  
Light on fabric, reflections on bars.  
  
The sun was rising and she remembered. One thousand six hundred twenty-two sun rises in Azkaban. She got up, taking a long time for that movement, for when the swirling in her head ceased, it was almost daylight.  
  
Standing on her toes, she could see the sea through a gap in the stone wall, and if she looked early enough, she could even see the sun, but only in winter. Now it had already escaped her narrow field of vision. The water was a steely grey, ice-floes swimming on the surface, but still -  
  
- she felt that she was standing in the water, she could see her feet, the waves washing around them, and round pebbles on the ground below, and above her sky and clouds. It was storming, and drops of water were hitting her face, and she didn't know whether it was rain or the sea water.  
  
She shouldn't remember...  
  
She saw someone standing before her, no, actually not, she was still watching the waves, but someone had wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly, not letting go.  
  
And something else was added to the sound of the water, heavy steps, rustling fabric, became louder, came closer.  
  
She was still staring at the uncaring waves. She shouldn't remember. Not the laughing, even if it sounded distant and shrill in this place. And then...  
  
A deep, rattling breath in front of her door.  
  
The hands that had been holding her pushed her away now. She felt the fall, felt the water above her, felt those hands pushing her under the surface and holding her there, without effort, until she wasn't moving anymore.  
  
  
It was getting close to evening when she realized she was breathing. Still. That her heart was still beating. That the woman next door tried to sing that song again.  
  
It had gone.  
  
Another movement, someone stopped in front of her door, obviously waiting for something. She crawled to the bars. In the fading light she could barely see his face, but she believed she knew it.  
  
She shouldn't remember.  
  
A hand, just as bony as hers, passed her a goblet through the bars, filled with water. She took it. Their hands touched for a second, and then he obviously realized what was wrong, tried to snatch back the goblet, but she already had it.  
  
He had recognized her.  
  
The water smelled foul, but everything smelled foul in here. She hadn't eaten or drunk for two days, it was making her sick. But did she really want to die with thirst?  
  
Did she want to?  
  
It only took a tiny movement of her left hand - the one that was still working - and the content of the goblet was spilled over the stone floor. And it only took a few seconds for her to realize what she had done, and to kneel down on the ground, licking the liquid off the raw stone floor.  
  
The sun was setting, and it would never rise again.  



End file.
